The Number Six
by CherFleur
Summary: Ichigo just wasn't made for relationships, so why should he try? Just when he's about to give up, he catches a certain detective's eye. As well as a few that he could well do without. GrimmIchi M/M yaoi. Eventual lemon and graphic-ness.
1. Sweltering Heat

KIKIKIKI

He could hear the cicadas chirping in the shade of the trees on the right hand side of the road, see the heat wave as it fluctuated over the pavement, screwing with his depth perception. The brown paper bag in his arms was wilting from the sweat that was accumulating on his finely muscled arms, muscles shifting beneath smooth hazelnut colored skin that would bronze even more over the coming summer months. Both the front and back of his light blue T-shirt were soaked with his sweat, and he huffed, resituating the damp, fragile bag of groceries in an attempt to keep it from tearing and spilling its innards across the hot cement. Flip-flops were making ripping and sticking noises on his feet, slapping against the ground sharply, intoning his lethargic pace in a beat that was a bit downtrodden. His basketball shorts were clinging and releasing his athletic thighs, stirring up a muggy breeze that did nothing to prevent the discomfort of perspiration dripping down his softly defined abs and into his waistband.

Every breath was stagnant and stifling hot, the perpetual scowl that coated his features was weak with fatigue from the heat. Orange hair was drooping from the normal spiky mess and starting to feel heavy from the humidity. Chocolate eyes were half-covered, hooding the irritated resignation that radiated from his gaze.

Honestly, you think he'd have worked it out by now; relationships really just weren't his thing.

He should have known better than to try to date Rukia, and now he was paying for it by going out and buying the same shit he had before they'd gotten together. He was back to the same old monotonous life he dreaded. To be fair, they'd lasted much longer than he'd anticipated; near five months. His longest relationship ever.

_"Ichigo, you go into a relationship setting yourself up to fail," the dark woman behind the bar _Ôken_ – __Shihōin __Yoruichi __– __had told him the previous evening when he'd gone to fiddle with the idea of drowning his sorrows for a night. "You immediately think that it's not gonna work, and that's why it doesn't."_

_"Hai, hai," he'd heard this every time he'd come in after a breakup, and he'd practically memorized the speech._

_A beer slammed down on the counter, causing the orange haired young man to startle and look up, only to be shocked by the frustrated, worried expression on her attractive features. _

_"I'm serious. You never let yourself get into a relationship – I mean _really_ get into it. At this rate, you're going to be single for the majority of your life; lonely. Don't eff this up," her brows furrowed as she turned away from him, fed up but still frustrated with worry. "I mean it; you've got to stop doing this to yourself. You pick people that need an ego boost, and get dumped when they realize that they're grateful to you rather than in love or like with you."_

_"She's right ya kno," Hirako Shinji – a regular to his left – butt-in, his straight blonde hair cut at his jaw and slightly mussed as if he'd been running his hands through it the way he did when he was thinking overly hard. "Yer gonna end up like one of those lonely people that only get satisfaction out of life by helping others. You'll never get a proper lay."_

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_While Ichigo was at the bar, a man was sitting in his office after hours, alone, working on clothing designs, and at the exact moment Shinji spoke those words, he sneezed and his papers went flying, his light-lead pencil slashing violently across the work at the action. With a weary sigh and creaking joints, he set about picking things up._

_That's what he did; he fixed things._

KIKIKIKI

Currently, however, the young art student with the bright hair was melting in the 102° F weather, and hating godforsaken every minute of it. It wasn't just the heat that was making him angst that afternoon, it was the fact that they were right; he was going to end up unhappy if he kept this up much longer. _Goddamnit_, he thought, drowsy from the heat. _I hate it when they're right. They never let me live it down._

His current train of thought, the firm decision he was coming to was interrupted by the most intriguing of scenes.

"Drop it!" the rough, deep, demanding voice sent a dark, pleasant shiver down the young man's spine and he found himself halting to glance curiously towards where the drop-dead sexy voice was coming from.

It appeared to be a drug-bust or something of the like.

The first thing that caught his attention was the brilliant electric blue hair that glowed in the hot afternoon sun, then the intense narrowed cyan eyes that shot heat straight to his groin as they focused on the assailant before him. He was wearing a light blue button up with the sleeves rolled up, and unbuttoned in the front over a sweat soaked grey wife-beater, police badge hanging off a ball chain, enhancing defined abs, and narrow, athletic hips that boot-cut jeans clung to with comfortable – but uncomfortably hot – looking Chucks on his feet, as well as the shoulder holster that was mostly covered by the button up. Peaking from the top of that sweaty undershirt was an angry looking scar, an ugly puce stain, inflamed from heat and the obvious irritation of the sweat-salt in his clothing. Full frowning lips held his attention for a moment over the strong jaw and proud features, then down a muscled neck to broad, strong shoulders that he could see bunching ever-so slightly under that worn blue dress shirt.

At the moment he was standing with both of his hands raised, palms outward, no higher than his waist, completely focused on the shaking, thin man before him, only two and a half, maybe three meters away. Trying not to appear threatening, but his very frame spoke of power and deadly grace.

_Hot damn_, he managed to think, swallowing the buildup of saliva in his mouth and licking his dry cracked lips.

"Fucking drop it!" the masterpiece of man-meat snarled and Ichigo barely managed to swallow a small whimper of appreciation at the animalistic nature of the man's anger.

Obviously the guy was doing something to piss that hunk off.

_Oh_, he noted, grip loosening on his bag of groceries as he took in the shaking, desperate man only a few feet from the orangette young man. _He's got a gun._

"Holy shit…" he breathed without thinking, and both individual's gazes flew to him.

The druggy's bloodshot eyes were wide as he stared at him for that half a second it took for him to decide what the young man's purpose was, and in that same half a second the orange haired man dropped his wilted paper bag and took a step back in preparation to book it. He could hold his own in a fight, but against a gun wielding crackpot? Not something he was going to chance. His instinctive retreat was apparently with good reason, as in the moment it took for him to take another step back, the druggy was on him, pointing the mini-Uzi in the redhead's sweating face before swinging around behind him to place one of his arms around the young man's torso to hold him in place.

_Fucking-A, _suddenly wide chocolate eyes automatically locked with incredulous bright blues as he felt his face pale. The gorgeous man with the intense cerulean eyes features tensed, and the now-hostage Ichigo noted that the man was already halfway to him by the time they'd locked gazes. With each breath the volatile man before him took, his badge and holster shifted, but he made no move to reach for the weapon, and for this the young art student was grateful. He hadn't the slightest idea how the guy would react to the threat, and when he was pressing the large, open end of such a disastrous weapon at his temple he really didn't want to figure it out. _I'm a _hostage!_ I'm in a godforsaken hostage situation!_

"Come on, Nnoi, ya don't wanna be doin' this," the young man's soon-to-be wet-dream cautioned, settling slowly, so as not to startle the jumpy man that was shifting closer to Ichigo's back, onto his heels, thumbs hooked casually in his pockets. "This could get real bad for ya if'n ya don't let the kid go."

With a choked, sharp laugh, the junky – Nnoi, apparently – pressed up tightly to Ichigo's back and the young brightly haired man stiffened as he felt the erection pressed to the top of his ass, feeling his face pale just that slightest bit more and his lips tense in his weakened scowl. This guy was getting off on the situation, or he was just hopped up on something that was effing with his system. The young man whose week worth of groceries were now cooking on the burning asphalt prayed that this was a case of the latter, but feared that it was really the first choice.

He hated being right all the time.

"Whadda ya think ya kno, Grimmjow? _Hah_?" leaning into Ichigo, the man's slurred, rushed words were drowned into a groan as he ground into the athletic body he'd caught in order to save his own ass. "Ya feel _good_," he murmured thickly in the orangette's ear, licking the sweaty, cold with nerves, neck before him with his sticky, not quite covered in saliva tongue and humming brokenly, enjoying the shudder from the ripe boy in his arms and the murderous rage in Grimmjow's gaze. "Taste good too."

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_Shit,_ was his internal mantra at the moment. _Shit, shit, shit._

The attractive young man who was currently being held hostage by his fucked over old friend looked sick to his stomach as the man continued to grind against him, eyes gleaming feverishly but surprisingly never leaving the detective's hard, furious gaze. Those soft chocolate eyes were wide, and his scowl had shifted into a pained grimace, but he'd yet to make the slightest of sounds since his quiet outburst on walking into the situation.

He couldn't believe that it'd gotten so _bad_ all of a sudden. All he'd been doing was the routine wrist slap and confiscation of what the known drug house had in stock. It had become blaringly obvious that something was amiss when his childhood friend hadn't let him into the house to do his job; either he had gone insane or he was dealing something for someone. Grimmjow Jaegerjaques had always been the one to go in and do this kind of stuff alone, as he'd grown up in the scene and they tended to cooperate better with him than with the other officers, soothed by his rough mannerisms and jerky, half-assed speech.

Everything had gotten serious when he'd given his young partner a reluctant go-ahead to call in someone on an assist, and his old friend had suddenly drawn a gun on him and backed him out of the entryway of the house and into the road. Reason wasn't working, so he'd started to make demands, and he'd thought that maybe he was getting through to the other when that bit of eye-candy that was now the source of a rather frustrating dilemma had come around the corner, looking like he'd just watched someone kick a puppy. The blunette had noticed him just before the young man had taken in the scene and spoken without thinking.

In the back of his mind he was smug about the fact that the attractive young man had been checking him out before seeing that Nnoi was holding a gun.

Now he felt his gut souring with rage because there was a fine tremor running through that enticing frame and it was growing more and more pronounced every time the drug addict that he'd grown up with ground up against him. The poor boy was terrified.

Where the fuck was that backup? Where was his partner?

"Come on, Nnoi, ya c'n still come outta this if'n ya jus' let the kid alone," he locked his angry gaze with that of the blanking chocolaty orbs and felt his heart throb as the boy started to enter shock. "Any more o' this an' I'll lock ya so deep ya won't last the nigh'."

The harsh laugh that he received grated on his nerves.

"I ain't gettin' outta this'n Grimm," that tone was bordering on desperation and he found himself leaning forward slightly in interested concern. "Not this time."

"Nnoi –" he cut himself off in his frowning tone as he saw the boy gag suddenly, and the junky holding the weapon to his face screwed up his face and leaned the majority of his weight on the sweaty, tense, pale young man.

He'd just fucking _cum_ on the poor boy.

The animalistic snarl that ripped from his throat was because those magnificent fawn eyes were gathering tears and he was clearly struggling with the effort not to puke up whatever was in his stomach, his body trembling nonstop, jaw clenched so hard that he could see the muscles fluttering by his ear. Smooth, golden skin was so pale as to seem green, and he hated the way those dexterous hands were clenching and stretching with nerves. Muscles tensed as he prepared to spring and rip the man who was no longer his friend apart just as he heard a gun fire and flinched, watching Nnoi's eyes widen almost comically before he slid down the petrified, gorgeous young man's body.

Standing 30 feet behind Ichigo, was Grimmjow's young, prodigal partner, Hitsuguya Tōshirō, standing still in his firing stance, face calm and eyes cold as he stared unemotionally at the body of what was once one of Grimmjow's good friends. His snow white hair still managed to defy gravity, even in the humidity, his clear, sky blue eyes held nothing but calculation as he studied the remainder of the scene before him. His pale, creamy skin held the slightest flush from the heat of the day, as he wore a full-on dress shirt and slacks with his dress shoes. The boy was like a walking thermostat always set on cool, never got hot, and never really got cold. When it was snowing was really the only weather type that the muscular blunette had seen his young partner enjoy, his face lighting up and a smile curling on his full peach lips.

As it were, Grimmjow found himself completely bypassing the dead body, and quickly moving towards the collapsing art student to catch him as he fell. Carefully holding the trembling young man, he smoothed his large seeming hand over the narrow, lithe waist and marveled at how well the pretty little thing fit in his arms.

"What's yer name, kid?" he asked gruffly, unaware of how gentle his voice sounded beneath the roughness as well as Hitsuguya's raised brow at the position he was in.

"K-Kurosaki Ichigo," he managed, teeth chattering from the adrenaline rush and shocked disgust at what had just been done to him.

"Hajime mashite, Ichigo, I'm Grimmjow Jaegerjaques," carefully shifting so that the frightened young man didn't have to look at the body of his violator and captor, sending Hitsuguya a look that told him to take care of the mess. "Let's head over ta the car, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay, car," the distance in that light tenor sent another ache through the tall, brash man's chest and he wished that Nnoi were alive still so that he could kill him again, slowly.

Gently, Grimmjow helped the trembling young man to his feet, supporting the majority of his tense weight as he helped the other with the slow going towards the commissioned vehicle, noting idly that the boy's crown was just at the height of his lips. _Perfect_, he thought idly, glancing back to see his partner on the phone, idly studying the man that he'd killed. _He's perfect. _Feeling a warm wetness that was thicker than sweat on the back of the boy's shirt, he glanced down and back to note that Nnoi had spattered a bit of blood when he'd been shot, staining this shirt irreparably. He tightened his arm around him just before sitting him in the back seat of the cruiser, kneeling down in front of him and taking those marvelous, narrow hands into his own and chafing them gently.

"So, Ichigo, how ya feeling?" his brow was furrowed and his voice softer than he meant it to be.

"Well," he took a breath before his expression turned confused, nearly befuddled. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Skill as well as instinct helped him to shift to the side to catch the boy again, and support him as he vomited up something watery and extremely unpleasant. He soothed the back of the orangette's skull and neck, as well as banding an arm around his chest, hating the spasms that went through his body as he heaved. That smooth looking skin was jumping with nerves and sickness, and Grimmjow couldn't think of a way to help other than to hold the boy and speak nonsensical meanderings that didn't connect to the situation in the least.

It was all he could do.

Still, despite the awkward circumstances, he couldn't help but take note of the pleasing feel of the young man pressed against him, they way he fit perfectly beneath his chin. Young, athletic muscle shifted beneath soft looking skin as he regained some of his golden color, and the hard, tanned body on which he leaned found the yielding quality of the orangette pleasing in a most primal sense. The slim build was a perfect, complementary contrast to the wiry frame that Grimmjow possessed, and the young man relaxed against the soothing beat of the detective's chest before completely passing out.

With a sigh, the blunette carefully shifted the civilian in his arms so that he could carry him bridal-style and placed him gently into the nondescript cruiser, situating him in the semblance of a comfortable position. Electric blue eyes studied the golden frame for a moment, lingering on the sweat drenched hollow of his collar bone, and the curve of his neck as his head lolled onto the headrest a bit.

"Pretty," he muttered to himself, not even considering hiding his grin despite the conditions under which he'd met this attractive young man.

Turning away from his possible conquest, he note the people who were staring out their windows and standing on their lawns, looking in the direction of Nnoi's dead body, and Hitsuguya's pale form.

"Aw, shit."

Grumbling the entire way, he started back towards his young, prodigal partner noting with a grimace that said partner was scrunching up his nose in a rare show of disgust at the body before him; the muscular man couldn't really blame him.

It wasn't pretty, by any means.

The bullet had gone in through the junky's back, probably barely missing a rib, sliding on the cartilage and ligaments, chipping thoracic vertebrae on its way to the fucker's heart. From there, it'd most likely torn through the cardiac muscles and gotten lodged in the sternum, or at least the edge of it.

He shuddered, regarding his young companion, in every target, he always managed to get the same spot and the same reaction. His positioning was always just _so_. Now that he thought about it, this was Hitsuguya's first on-the-clock kill. Grimmjow knew that during the white haired kids first run, with his previous partner, he'd had to kill some people – he'd never gotten the lowdown on _who _and his taicho had kept that file well out of the blunette's grasp – but that'd been desperation, and he hadn't been working.

Was he going to handle it okay?

"Why the fuck didn't ya call fer backup?" he growled at the crouching, creamy skinned boy. "The shit coulda hit the fan."

"It could have," he concurred, causing Grimmjow to grit his teeth in irritation with the monotone response before scowling as the turquoise eyed prodigy gave him a slightly wry look. "But you hate it when someone comes in and, what was it? 'Throws off your game', wasn't it?"

It was silent as the different hues of blue met and irritation shifted to amused assent; he did hate it when someone else came in and tried to take over his cases, or change his way of doing things. Nobody messed with _his_ prey.

"Okay, I'll give ya that," the blunette ran his powerful hand over his face, feeling the heat that radiated from his palms and grimacing even as he mussed his damp bright locks. "But ya gonna call someone to take care of that body?"

"Already did," a white brow shifted as he considered the bleeding husk before him, taking in the bruising that was beginning to spread over the revealed part of his chest. "Didn't you grow up with this guy?"

"Yeah," deep voice full of disgust, he shook his head at the other's bland stare. An offer to listen, or to take care of it himself, the man didn't know, and wouldn't take him up on either, in any case. "Fucker got into some real deep shit and screwed himself over."

Standing up and dusting off his impeccable slacks, the white haired officer – who wasn't sweating in the least, Grimmjow noted again with irritation – and started to walk towards the car. "Guess I'll take care of searching the house," he tossed an amused look at his older partner as he passed him, noting with pleasure the way his scowl deepened and his eyes traveled to the college student in the vehicle. "Seeing as you so obviously want to take care of the victim."

"Ya just gonna leave 'im there?" the man queried, not rising to the bait no matter how bad he wanted to; that would just make the little fucker even more smug.

"No," the cool boy waved his hand as an ambulance turned the corner. "They're going to take care of him."

The scowl didn't ease up as he seethed internally. _Smug little bastard, thinking he's got everything covered. _Truthfully, the blunette knew that Hitsuguya usually _did_ have everything covered. He would worry when there was a time when his young partner _didn't_ have everything under control, because then he'd have to relearn how to take care of his own ass. After a particularly trying case, the white haired boy would check up on his senior partner, making sure that he was doing alright, keeping himself fed and clean. It was almost like having a friend, but neither of them could bring themselves to call the other as such.

Seeing the orangette in his black Chevy brightened his suddenly darkening mood, his narrowed gaze taking in the new positioning of his passenger.

Curled up on the Pleather seat with his forehead pillowed on his knees, side to the seat back, the soft glow of his honey skin in the humidity was enticing in a way that caused the detective to smirk predatorily.

_Oh, I hope this's gonna be fun._


	2. Primal Possessiveness

Thanks for the comments! They make me feel loved. I was a little freaked out when I saw my mailbox filled with Story Alerts and Favorites, but what really warmed my soul were the two reviews I got. Special thanks to _Driftinglullaby_, _bloodytears87_, _ravensterling123_, and _with these hands_. You have my utmost regard!

KIKIKIKI

Ichigo woke when he felt a large, warm hand smoothing over his back, and another shifting under his knees, as if to pick him up. This, of course, sent him on the defensive. He flailed, only to find himself stuck in a small space and spun as quickly as he could until he could stare at the man who'd been about to pick him up, his slim hands tight on the wheel of the car he was in. _Car?_ He wondered frantically, even as he took in the familiar sight of the blue haired hunk before him. _Why am I in a car? Why is the hottest guy I've ever seen in my life scowling at me with eyes that look like he wants to devour me?_

…_ Not that I think that last bit is a bad thing,_ he reminded himself, enjoying the hot shiver that ran down his spine as well as his ability push back the unpleasant experience that he was remembering in a crash course. _Nope, not a bad thing at all._

"Uh, G-Grimmjow, right?" he managed through his suddenly dry throat.

"Yeah, _Ichigo_," sharp canine teeth were revealed as the detective regarded him with a growing, attractive leer.

The deep tone, an almost purring quality that drifted lightly on his seductive voice caused Ichigo to feel flash fire throughout his body. _Oh my god, _he couldn't think as he let the man grab his wrist in a strong firm grip, admiring the man's larger callused hands. _The things I'd let you do to me… _his eyes widened and his breath hitched as he found himself standing next to his blue haired hunk. _The things you could do to me without my permission…_ he shuddered at the thought, swallowing and avoiding the intense gaze that showed the larger man was thinking along the same lines, and the way he flexed just the tips of his fingers against the firm, smooth flesh of the orangette's forearm, he was enjoying said thoughts.

_Please don't get hard, please don't get hard,_ he fervently prayed even as he darkly wished for the man to just ravish him and be _done _with it.

Feeling himself being led forward, he glanced up, desperately ignoring the heat that suffused his cheeks to note that they were heading into the police station.

"What do _I _have to be here for?" he found himself asking, sending a confused glance up to the raised brow of the blunette.

"Gotta get yer account o' things too. Ya were involved, someone died; gotta have yer say," he explained, looking over the young art student who was just _ripe_ for the picking.

"O-oh, yeah," clearing his throat, he tried not to squeak when the man drew his callused palm up over his arm to settle his fingers in an almost comforting grip on the back of his neck. "Right."

They were silent again and Ichigo couldn't help but focus on the marvelous feeling of being gripped so firmly by the other male, even as he heard officers call out to Grimmjow in greeting and the low returns of snappy remarks and inside jokes.

"Oi, Grimm!" a young girl with bright blonde locks – were they green tinged? Like when a platinum blonde jumps into a chlorine pool, or was that just the light? – and a single pink eye – the other was covered by a white and red eye-patch – called, voice brash and uncultured; it reminded Ichigo of his younger sister, Karin. "How's Pantera? If he's okay, he's gonna come over!"

_Pantera…? _At the name the powerful hand on his neck tensed and relaxed, seemingly beginning to massage the younger man's neck without thought; not that he minded, it was a little piece of heaven and he had to start up his mantra again: _Please don't get hard… _

_Who's that? His kid?_

If he had a kid that might put a damper on things, depending on whether or not a _spouse _came with said child.

"Oi," the intonation of the word immediately told Ichigo that the tall, lazy-eyed, handsome, man who came up behind her was her father. "Lillinette, don't I get a say in whether or not he comes over?"

"Īe ," she didn't even hesitate as she said it, leaning back so that the man would pick her up and settle her on his slim hip. "Because everybody knows that I 'wear the pants'."

This caused everybody to laugh, the sound of rumbling velvet covered rocks traveled through the blunette's arm and into the art student's upper body, gaining a grin from him at the infectious, gorgeous sound. To Ichigo's – becoming – sleepy-eyed pleasure, the massaging grip started to travel over his shoulders in a most enjoyable way. He wouldn't mind _wherever_ that hand decided to travel, just so long as…

_Heavy breathing in his ear, erratic grinding against his back, helpless shame and disgust roiling in his gut…_

Pitching over, covering his mouth at the sudden flashback, he heaved watery, stinging fluids making way from his stomach to his hands which covered his mouth. _Well, there goes _my _sex appeal, _he thought shrewdly, distantly aware of arms holding him and hands prying his own from his face and voices rushing around him in a flurry of distracted urgency. When he looked up, his watering gold-brown eyes met with that of Lillinette's soft pink worried one, and he noted that she had been shakily stroking his hair with her tiny, pale hand. As she noticed his attention on her, she smiled, crinkling up the edge of her single eye, and he found himself studying the small girl's eye-patch. The red, he noted, was a flame that stroked up to the darker edges of the mainly white piece, and the string was wrapped like a candy-cane. Within the flame was a character reminiscent to _Mr. Yuck_ from poison labels, with its eyes scrunched up and its tongue sticking out comically.

Finding it in himself to look away from the stubborn innocence in that gaze, he turned and found himself caught in those intense cyan eyes which had so enthralled him from the first moment he'd seen them. Grimmjow's gaze was so focused on Ichigo – as if he were the center of the universe – that Ichigo felt his eyes water anew and had to tear his own away to look anywhere but at the man he was beginning to feel a deep confusion about. He wanted him, that much was obvious, but what did he want _from_ him?

"Yo, Ichigo," that dark voice was low, just barely raised enough for the orangette to hear him, and smooth. "Ya ready ta go ta Starrk's office now?"

"Starrk?" he managed, wiping his mouth with a damp towel that someone'd had the brains to grab for him. "Who's that?"

"Me," the voice of the lazy-eyed handsome man intoned, amused and considering at the same time.

"Oh, sure," even to himself, his voice sounded subdued. "Your office."

Thorough relief flooded through his system as Grimmjow's firm arm banded around his waist to help him stand, and he let himself lean on the man's larger frame with only the slightest bit of embarrassment. Following his relief a wave of fatigued weariness crashed over him, causing a deep sigh to escape his chest; could life get any worse?

He'd been dumped for the billionth time, his friends lacked any sympathy, he gets held hostage and molested, and now he pukes his guts out in the most embarrassing way in front of two handsome guys and a kid. The only consolation he had was that one of said hot guys was again massaging him – this time his side – with his large, warm hand. Through his shock, he only just began to feel the freezing temperature of his body, the cold sweat that now encased him in the A/C'd air of the police departments main faculties. It was nice to feel that comforting kneading in his side, completely different from anything he could remember, it was innately intimate but still it relaxed Ichigo to an extent he hadn't been since before his mother's death.

Which was something he didn't wish to be thinking of at the moment either.

He's only just met the guy, _seriously_...?

Once they'd entered Starrk's office, the orangette found it in himself to look up and study the tall brunette with the sleepy eyes. If he hadn't already seen Grimmjow, he'd have said that Coyote Starrk was the most attractive man he'd have ever seen; with soft blue-grey eyes that he was sure would burn black if ever filled with passion of any sort. Prominent cheekbones gave a hollow, rough look to his features, the small patch of stubble on his chin giving him a devil-may-care atmosphere. Long, lean build that slouched comfortably showed his defined muscle, and if he were to compare him to Grimmjow, he'd have to say that he was just a more stretched out version of the hunk that was comforting him pleasantly, as he was just a tidbit taller than the man who'd initially caught Ichigo's eye.

Those sleepy eyes focused on him and he found himself being gently pushed down onto a comfortable couch; it was obviously used for on-the-job naps, as proved by the well-used pillow at one end. As the young art student sat, Grimmjow took his place beside him, throwing one leg over the other to cross his ankle at his knee, arm thrown out behind Ichigo in a most possessive manner, causing the orangette to toss him a wry look; it was so obvious how he was feeling towards him. Really, they hadn't even had an actual conversation, and the gorgeous blunette was staking a claim.

It was extremely animalistic.

His primal side liked it, and some of his intellectual side as well.

"So, Grimmjow," Starrk began, leaning back in a comfortable looking office chair, one with significant padding, leaning on the arm with his elbow and propping his chin in his hand. "You just left Tōshirō-kun to deal with this on his own."

"He can handle himself," the deep rumble of annoyance caused Ichigo to glance over at the scowling man beside him with a raised brow. "He's not some punk rookie."

Who were they talking about?

"Sure, he's not some punk, but he's still one person against the possibility of many," those slate eyes hardened and narrowed, pinning the man who was now fiddling with the hairs at the base of the art student's skull - which felt lovely – and Ichigo thought that there was something about this 'Tōshirō' that wasn't in the light as of yet. "You know better," his eyes softened as he glanced at Ichigo, taking in his chocolaty eyes as they became sleepy with fatigue, as well as the remaining glint of shock. "But I'm thinking that Tōshirō-kun knew what he was doing, sending this young man with you. Your name?"

Blinking, it took the orangette a moment to figure out that the man was speaking to him and when he did, he took comfort from the hand playing with his hair and the nape of his neck.

"Kurosaki Ichigo."

"Hajime mashite, I'm Coyote Starrk, and this," the blonde, pink-eyed girl with the eye patch walked in and moved around the desk to plop into Starrk's lap without preamble. "Is Gingerback Lillinette, my daughter."

"Ah, hi," he managed as Grimmjow's hand against clamped to the back of his neck again, massaging in that most enjoyable way. "Nice to meet you."

The girl eyed him critically as she adjusted her position on her father's lap, regardless of whether or not her positioning would be comfortable for the man.

"Are you okay again? You're not hurting?"

"No, no," he shook his head and smiled, enjoying the sensation of those strong fingers sliding over his cool skin. "I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

The low rumble coming from Grimmjow, Ichigo was sure only he could hear at the level it was at, but Starrk sent the detective an inquiring knowing glance.

"You'll come to find that Grimmjow doesn't take well to false platitudes, Kurosaki-kun," was the commanding officer's amused advice for the attractive youth.

The blunette was just about to open his mouth to argue with the other good-naturedly, when someone shouted out and there was a mess of voices out in the other hall.

"Hitsuguya-san!" as soon as they could hear the name clearly, Ichigo felt Grimmjow tense to spring up and out of the room, and was a bit unsettled by Starrk's reaction.

His blue-grey eyes widened and narrowed, color shifting to icy silver as he bore his teeth momentarily before his expression shifted again to one of bored sleepiness. Setting Lillinette on the floor, he moved towards the door as Grimmjow did the same.

"Hitsuguya-san!"

Well, today was turning out to be more exciting than he'd anticipated.

10101010

Pain threatened to overwhelm him, the forced injections shot wooziness and terrifying lack of clarity through the young man's prodigal body. _Oh Kami-sama, _he mourned, feeling the palpitations of his soon to fail heart with petrified certainty. _At least let me make it back to the station to report…_

Stumbling at the pain that shot up his spine, he repressed a whimper to the slightest sound as he managed to focus on the other side of the street.

"I'm here," his relief was palpable and he had to keep himself from relaxing, as he'd have collapsed if he'd let himself rest. "I'm here."

Working his way across the street, he saw some of the patrolmen having some sort of silly, friendly argument.

"I'm telling you, she's never gonna – " the patrolmen halted with a choking sound as the young detective passed him.

"What's wrong…?" the other queried before sighting the bloodied and beaten white haired young man. "Oh my god."

Without pausing, the prodigal officer continued forward, pushing open the door with some effort and a low, pained grunt as his body protested at the motion. He could hear the two patrolmen behind him scrambling after him as he stumbled into the A/C filled front room of the station.

There was silence for a moment before all hell broke loose.

"Hitsuguya-san!" the receptionist cried, her hands coming up to cover her mouth.

"Hitsuguya-san!"

His vision blacked out for a moment and he had the oddest sensation of being upside-down on a rollercoaster, but it didn't last long, as he was soon wrapped up in something warm, wiry, and breathing. Whoever this human blanket was, they smelled _really_ good…

"Tōshirō-kun," a familiar low voice queried urgently, following the gentle cadence of his heartbeat and the comforting vibrations of that voice made Hitsuguya shudder and turn his face into the man's chest. "Tōshirō-kun, what happened?"

Happened?

Snapping his clear blue eyes open, he struggled to sit up, only to find himself mostly draped across his superior officer's lap. That's right, he had to report.

"Coyote-taicho," he managed, just barely holding his regular tone, albeit it was a bit strained. "We've been compromised," turning his head to look up into the now identified presence that'd comforted him, the prodigy noted that his moody partner and the cute guy from earlier that day were standing over by the taicho's office.

With Lillinette.

The little girl's single pearl-pink eye was heart wrenching as she took in the bloody sight of the snow-white fukutaicho, clothes torn and eyes unfocused. She'd grown extremely fond of the young man, as if sensing a kinship with the young genius and pouncing on the chance to have more people in her life. She hated being alone.

"Lillinette, I'm okay," he managed, throwing the child one of those smirks he usually reserved for Grimmjow when he wanted to infuriate the man. "Don't frown like that, you'll start to look like Coyote-taicho."

With a nod, she managed to smooth out her features so that only her brow was scrunched up and the white haired young man didn't puzzle over the face that she was now clutching the hand of Kurosaki Ichigo for dear life.

"Tōshirō-kun," returning his wavering attention to the strong form that held him upright and presentable, Hitsuguya barely suppressed a flinch as he felt pain stab through his abdomen. "What do you mean we've been compromised?"

"I know who is now in control of Las Noches," his clear, shaky gaze met with those darkening blue-grays for a moment before he eyelids began to flutter and his body to tremble.

"Tōshirō!" was the lowered urgent, rumbling voice again. "Tōshirō!"

"Aizen-taicho…" he managed. "Has…"

"Where is Szayel? What the fuck is taking him?" he could hear Grimmjow grind out, closer now.

He couldn't be more than 17 inches from Hitsuguya's torso, and thus in his personal space. Someone else, probably the receptionist – he could never remember her name, as it wasn't that important – by the smell of her perfume, was crushing in on his open side, the one not protected by Starrk. Two inches from the lash mark on his lower back that'd slipped around to his hip. Someone else was talking on the phone – he couldn't identify the voice – but they were pacing in short, 12 inch intervals; 3 steps to the left, 1.5 seconds, 4 and a half to the right, 3.64 seconds, spin on heel, repeat. He was quicker moving to the left, probably due to the momentum gained from the quick stop and spin. The heart next to him was beating at slightly abnormal intervals than the norm due to the stress of the situation; 1.5 seconds, 2 seconds, 1 second, 2.5 seconds…

Head throbbing, he moaned softly, unconsciously burrowing closer to his superior officer, whose grip tightened marginally on the small frame in his arms.

"Too many numbers," the young man nearly whined, voice pitched low enough that only Grimmjow and Starrk hear, the receptionist too caught up in her own dramatization of the situation to take note.

"Then stop counting," he thought he heard, but he couldn't be sure.

06060606

He wanted to break something, something valuable, expensive, and hideously gorgeous.

_Where's Kuchiki Byakuya when ya need him? _He thought with a snarl as he watched Grantz Szayelapporo work quickly and efficiently on the injuries his young partner had sustained. Starrk had been right; he shouldn't have left the creamy prodigy on his own after he'd had to kill someone only minutes before.

What the fuck was I thinking?

Glancing over at Ichigo, who was speaking into his cell softly, Lillinette curled up in his lap, he knew that he really hadn't been thinking at all; he'd been feeling. And normally, this wouldn't have bothered him, he normally acted without thinking about it, but that was out of instinct rather than this instant possessiveness and desire – and not only physical desire, which'd come as a shock, he could tell you – not something that he could rightfully have decided to follow in the circumstances.

Couldn't blame him for his tastes though, Ichigo certainly was a fine catch; he knew he had him, hook, line, and sinker.

The young art student reacted to him instinctively, and he'd made no move to change his willingness to yield to the blunette's possessive advances on his person, even so soon after an assault. Although, there had been that episode an hour or so ago, but he was near positive that'd not been anything to do with the way he'd been touching the orangette at the time.

God he hoped not.

Taking his eyes from the divine image of Ichigo curled up with a child – even if that kid weren't Pantera – the fukutaicho studied his superior officer and sometimes friend.

He didn't believe that anyone else except for himself, Szayel, and possibly Ichigo, had noticed that he hadn't moved more than 15 feet from the abused form of Grimmjow's partner. It wasn't as if the lean, animalistic man could reprimand him about it as he wasn't moving from his position at the young man's feet until he knew that he was going to be okay. If one were to compare it to anything, it would be to an animal protecting its young, or a wounded pack mate.

For Grimmjow it was a case of both.

This was _his _young partner, and a member of _his _team.

When he'd first been assigned to work with the kid, he'd been hella pissed off. Why did _he _have to babysit? He didn't even like _working _with a partner, and now he had to take care of a rookie?

"_What the fuck, Starrk!" he'd growled, leaning on the hand he'd slammed down onto the man's desk when he'd first heard the preposterous news. "I don't work with kids!"_

_The lazy-eyed man regarded him coolly, leaning back in his comfortable chair._

"_Well, you're gonna have to," if Grimmjow hadn't been so furious, he'd have heard the door to his superior officer's office open and close softly behind him. "Because you're the only one I can trust to take care of him properly. Everybody knows that you don't play favorites, and you act the same way with everyone," his glance behind Grimmjow informed the other that someone was in the room. "Like an ass."_

_Turning, his scowl, which had hardened with fury, slipped just the slightest bit. The kid was quite a sight to behold._

_Hitsuguya's left arm was in a sling, casted from mid upper arm over his hand, there were random dark purple bruises sneaking peaks at Grimmjow from beneath the young man's pristine clothes, the majority in shapes that the blunette had become quite familiar with. Somebody had let loose on the kid. Letting his gaze travel up towards the youthful features is what did him in, as he took in the bandaged cheek and the medical eye patch that covered one of his similar crystal orbs, the remaining one challenging him in a most unsettling way, daring him to push him away._

_They stared at each other, sizing up an opponent is as close a description as can be given as to how they looked at each other, and it was thanks to this that Grimmjow noticed the slightest sway to the way that the boy was standing, the rapid pulse at his creamy pale throat. On any other day, and if he didn't have to work with the kid, he'd have probably jumped at the chance to mark up the pretty column, but at the moment he was staring at a prospective partner, and one who was about to keel over._

"_Sit down before ya fall down, chibi," he smirked, watching that single clear eyes narrow at him, and that soft mouth twitch down into the slightest scowl, one that when released, the detective figured could probably rival his own._

"_It's Hitsuguya Tōshirō," that voice could have probably been extremely enticing in the right situation, all soft and light, prim and almost proper, but not quite. _

"_So, Grimmjow," Starrk interrupted, and something in that familiar gaze caused Grimmjow's mind to screech to a halt at thinking any _fun _thoughts about his prospective partner. "This is your new partner. Be… Less of an ass, will you?"_

_Fuck._

_Glancing over at that pale visage, the blunette pulled his brows together and scowled even harder at the slight smirk that was lighting up the grim cast to the white haired boy's features._

_The kid had guts, he'd give him that._

Aizen was gonna pay _dearly_ for this.

MEMEMEME

If ya'll want there to be a next chapter, I would much enjoy at least 10 reviews! I'm not greedy, but they make me feel like I'm actually writing for someone. Not that Story Alerts, and Fav's weren't nice, but maybe something a bit more personal isn't so hard to ask for?


	3. Colors Of

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01010101

Lillinette's presence was a comfort to him as he fought his internal battle against irrational rage and stiff pain. He'd always had an affinity for the young prodigy, in much the same way that Grimmjow'd had for Ichigo, he'd felt a need to possess him, to own him as soon as he'd lain eyes on the other. Of course, he'd had a more strict control over himself than his blue haired friend, and he could never really tell how his young Tōshirō felt about him – wasn't nearly as obvious as Ichigo's consideration of Grimmjow – although, now that he could almost think clearly, he was a bit warmed by the fact that the white haired young man had turned to him for some comfort in his plight. As they'd waited for Szayel to get to the station, the young detective had curled up into his arms, face hidden against Starrk's chest, scrunched up from pain and fatigue.

Sitting in his living room with Lillinette curled up with her head on his lap, her one eye a little puffy from crying, her nose stuffy from sniffling, Starrk hung up the phone after saying his farewells to Yamamoto-soutaicho.

In the guest room – which Lillinette had designed about a year after she'd come to live with him – slept the young fukutaicho fitfully, his youthful body burdened with horrid wounds once again, things that he should have never had to experience done to him yet again. Szayel had reported that Tōshirō had several cracked ribs, lacerations that covered his back and slid onto his chest and side, spider-webbing across his pale torso in a most frightening way; he hadn't bothered to try and count them. When the pink haired doctor had finished first aid and deemed him fit to be taken to the hospital, he'd found that the young man had a skull fracture as well as minor internal bleeding and as he was going over the boy for a secondary check after he'd gone in to stem the flow, he'd found slivers had been shoved up beneath the white haired detective's nails. The blood tests that'd come back to him had shown that the prodigy needed to go into an immediate detox, or they would need to give him a blood transfusion so that his heart wouldn't give out and his organs wouldn't be poisoned.

They'd all given a sigh of relief at the one thing the obnoxious man hadn't found had been done to him, and the fact that it hadn't happened was all that was keeping the sleepy-eyed man from exploding in a very Grimmjow-esque manner.

Setting down the phone in its cradle beside the couch, he pet his daughter's hair absently, idly gazing down at the one who'd soothed the ache of loneliness with her bright, brash existence.

He hadn't even known he'd had a daughter until the little girl had shown up three years prior, directed by a relative of Halibel's to his residence early one morning. That day had been like a punch in the gut, seeing the girl who was reminiscent of her mother but for her lighter skin, which she'd apparently inherited from him. Learning of his ex-fiancé's death had caused his stomach to roll threateningly, as well as the way that she'd died. She'd sacrificed herself for her daughter, protecting her in a car accident by shielding her with her body, and the only injury that'd been done to the girl was to her left eye, the cornea being irreparably damaged, as well as the muscles behind her eye. The relatives who'd been willing to take in the girl had passed her around, never wanting to take care of her for long, until finally one of the distant Aunts had taken pity on the lonely, grief stricken child and looked Starrk up.

In her pearl-pink eye he'd seen a look frighteningly similar to his own.

The taicho hadn't even thought to deny the child his home.

So there he sat, lost in his thoughts. Worries, struggles, apprehension, and anger all wrapped up inside the lean man, his tired form slumped just that bit more that would have spoken volumes to those who knew him well. Someone whom he had respected had done something unspeakably wrong to someone he cared about, and probably many others. There was no way that Aizen Sosuke was going to get away with this, he'd make sure of it.

His eyes would have discomfited even himself in those moments.

10101010

There was fire racing through his body, and only his reflexive grip of self control kept him from crying out as he shifted, his mental state shooting from oblivious unconsciousness to torturous wakefulness. His skin felt like it was trying to tear from his body, as if to escape the agony he was causing it by its involvement with him, his skull pulsing with every hard beat of his heart and sending a flash of light through his eyes. Mouth dry and sticky with residue saliva, he struggled to swallow properly, the urge too strong to ignore.

Opening his eyes just the slightest bit he noted that he was somewhere familiar immediately.

Taicho's guest room.

Every time he was hurt, he was sent home with the lazy-eyed man so that Lillinette could baby him in that flustered way she had in regards to him, as he had no one else to stay with, and Grimmjow still had work and wasn't really the best at taking care of _himself_ under normal circumstances. Having him take care of his young partner wasn't exactly something that the precinct felt they could trust him with, as they would fear for their Hitsuguya-san's welfare under the volatile blunette's care.

Taking a careful breath in, he scented the familiar smell of incense that the brunette would burn when he got home from work and was feeling the urge to take a particularly powerful nap; this usually pertained to when he had been informed of something heavy, a particularly hard, trying case.

Hitsuguya Tōshirō was no fool, he knew that the reason the man had burned incense that day was because of him. He was aware that his superior cared for him in an "inappropriate" sense, and if the prodigy hadn't been aware that the man did his utmost to keep his affection for him under tight control, never showing an indisputable favoritism, he'd have thought less of the man for it. His feelings for the man, however, were dubious at times. Of course, he found the man pleasing to the eye – oh yes – but that was all that had developed insofar. There was a vague affection for the man when he was seen with his daughter, a melancholy sympathy that he felt when it was blaringly obvious to him that the man was indeed exhausted, and not just his normal laziness. Although he felt that if he let them, those feelings would grow, he got that way whenever he saw the man sigh and rub his eyes the slightest bit.

To many within the precinct, Starrk was infallible, but choice few – including Hitsuguya – knew otherwise.

Relaxing and sinking back into the comfort of the guest bed, the white haired young man sighed carefully, opening his eyes a little further; Lillinette really knew how to refurbish a room. As he was trying to resituate himself so that the fire wouldn't burn up his body, wouldn't pulse his nails right off, he heard and saw the door to the guest room open.

Blonde hair – that'd seen an indoor pool's chlorine a bit too much – peeked around the door hesitantly, and when she saw that he was awake, her eye lit up and a grin spread across her features.

"Tō-nii! You're awake!" and instead of shouting it out like he expected her too, she whispered it jubilantly before rushing into the room. "Starrk-papa told me to wake him up when you woke up, but he looked like shit, so I think we should let him sleep for a bit longer," she rolled her eye as she carefully climbed up on the opposing side of the bed as carefully as possible, trying not to shift the injured officer and glad for the expense of the mattress as well as that silly wine glass test. "You know how he worries about you."

"Ah," he watched as she slid beneath the quilt and curled as close as she could to him without touching. "I know."

It was times like these, when the little girl curled up beside him and quietly bad mouthed her father, as well as gossiped about the rest of the precinct, that he enjoyed life to its fullest.

He'd even let Grimmjow win an argument when he had such feelings.

KIKIKIKI

_Holy shit, _Ichigo thought as he stared at the clock next to his bed. _I slept 14 hours._

After Grimmjow had dropped him off at the art student's small apartment, he'd taken a quick, furious shower before falling into bed and going out like a light. Even if it'd been such a long time, it only felt like he'd just gotten into bed. _The adrenaline must've really effed with my system if I slept that long…_ his mind continued, exhaustion and befuddlement curbing his thought process. Still, he was extremely glad that there hadn't been any nightmares, as he wasn't treasuring their appearance. He knew without a doubt that they would sneak up on him soon and bite him in the ass, tormenting him in ways both familiar and possibly new, due to the… incident of the day before.

"Shit," he muttered, sitting up and running his hands over his face and wild hair. "I have to go shopping again."

All of his groceries had been ruined just before…

Stomach roiling threateningly at thoughts of food and _other _things, he frowned. _Not that hungry anyway, it can wait._

With a harsh, irritated sigh, he gathered some things for a shower and dragged himself into his tiny bathroom to bathe, his skin feeling like it was crawling with bugs and his mouth like he'd brushed his teeth with a cat. Not fun.

Turning the knob to the hottest it could go, he stripped, dropping the sleeping clothes on the floor as he immersed himself with a hiss beneath the scalding water, enjoying the burning sensation on his skin, as if it were cleansing him, burning away an infection or cauterizing a wound. For a number of minutes he just stood beneath the flow, loving the tingling sensation from the heat that would soon turn to an itch and ruin all of his fun. With a sigh, he turned down the heat and leveled the cool water to just over lukewarm to a comfortable, normal temperature and began to scrub at his sensitized skin before washing his hair with his Strawberries and Cream shampoo – a gag gift from his sisters, but he, poor art student that he was, wasn't going to turn it down – and running the washcloth over himself again, just in case he'd missed a spot.

Just before he got out, he spun the knob to the hottest again, just to feel that burning tingle when he stepped out into the cool, steamy air.

Marvelous.

Walking out of the bathroom with his towel wrapped around his waist after a quick, proficient brush of his teeth, skin a dark pink from the water he made his way into the kitchen just to check exactly what provisions remained. Sighing, he grabbed the lone fruit cup in the fridge and tore off the plastic top to take a couple of swallows out of it whilst eating the grape fruit, enjoying the zing that it sent through his mouth, the cold feeling from the remnants of a good brush with his minty toothpaste helping him to wake up just that bit more. Rinsing out the cup he placed it with his other improv art supplies on the end of the counter and meandered back into his room to throw on a pair of boxers and a pair sweats, glad for the little things like A/C he'd let himself indulge in, as the day looked like it was a scorcher; he was glad to have slept through it.

Remembering that he'd missed nearly an entire day in that moment he decided he should probably check his message machine. On his way though, he was distracted by his oil paints, the different shades of blue inspiring him to create a new color; Grimmjow blue. Glancing at the others he noted his reds and purples as well; maybe Lillinette pink as well.

06060606

"Grimm-chan! Grimm-chan!" the irritated, yet still hesitant voice of the young boy in his care caused him to groan and snarl. "Grimm-_chan_!"

Rolling over quickly he snatched the boy from beside the bed and wrapped him up in the blanket that'd previously been around his own body as snug as a bug before laying across the wiry form for good measure, just to make sure that he couldn't get away. The boy wriggled beneath the detective's larger dead weight, giggling breathily as he couldn't get much air beneath his guardian.

"Grimm-_chan~!_" this time his voice was breathlessly exasperated.

"Wha'…?" was the sleepy, reluctant reply.

"Breakfast's ready," those magic words made him suddenly able to breathe again and he was dizzy a moment later as he was spun out of the blanket and swung up onto the blunette's shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Settling his elbows up on the man's muscled back, hooked precariously on the shoulder blade that was conveniently placed right where he needed it. He studied the scarred back for a moment, recalling when the man had explained that he'd done something stupid and joined the marines out of high school and gone over to the Middle-East. He'd gained life and death experience over there, as he put it. All Pantera saw was a lot of scars.

"Neh, Grimm-chan."

"Hmm?" the boy giggled as he felt the sound rumble through his favorite person's torso.

"What's wrong?"

Continuing forward, Grimmjow kept silent as he padded down the stairs, careful not to jar the boy with his shoulder as he met each step with his bare feet, struggling with whether or not to tell the slight, fiery boy. Just as he opened his mouth to lie, however, he felt the child shift and wrap his skinny, play-scabbed arms around his neck. The scowl that moved over his sleepy features was to cover the tightening of his throat and the pinching of his eyes.

Little bastard.

"Is it Shiro-nii-chan?" was the soft inquiry, the arms tightening just the slightest bit.

"… Ah."

"Is he gonna be okay?"

"… Ah."

The little body shuddered with relief as he sighed; he tried not to, but he _adored _the smart mouthed genius. He knew that he shouldn't, that Grimmjow was the only person he could count on to always be there, but…

He couldn't help it.

"Oi, brat," Grimmjow rumbled as they passed through the living room and what should have been the dining room but it was filled with toys and boxes, as well as the detective's gun cabinet.

"Hm?"

"What'd ya make today?" a grin in his voice as he struggled with his own internal emotions, as well as cheer up his boy.

"_Well…_" the fukutaicho caught out of the corner of his eye the color orange, jerking his thinking to a certain berry; well, _he _was going to have a good morning, but what about his newfound conquest?

Grinning, he ran his callused fingers over the back of the boy's Achilles, enjoying the shrieking, struggling, and giggling that followed his endeavor, as well as the sight of pancakes, eggs and bacon on his plate. Really, it was a marvelous morning.

And he was starving.

69696969

The phone on the kitchen counter rang just loud enough to be heard by the designer working in his room, and he could hear the quick, even patter of his adoptive son hurriedly moving to pick it up so that he didn't have to be disturbed in his work. The green eyed child was as silent as always when he lifted the receiver, so he couldn't tell exactly what was going on, but he was pretty sure that the boy was contemplating about whether or not to hang up instead of bothering the man.

He sighed, putting down his straightedge and pencil.

"Ulquiorra-kun, would you please bring me the phone?" he called, waiting the pause of when the child would get irritated with his inability to leave the man's work undisturbed.

When the scarred boy appeared in the doorway his bored, disinterested eyes had the slightest tilt of disappointment in his eyes and he felt his heart clench with the slight down turn of the boy's mouth. Black hair framed his pale features, cut symmetrically on either side of his head to reach the bare tops of his shoulders. The thin, oddly tear-like green tinted scars that descended from his bottom eyelid to the edge of his jaw line had faded ever so slightly now that they weren't being renewed by those who'd _owned_ him. His meager frame barely reaching 4'7" at the age of 11 spoke of the malnutrition of the majority of his childhood, as well as his dislike for heavier foods, even with his young metabolism. Emerald green eyes lacked the warmth and innocence of others his age, but held a controlled affection for the scarred, tattooed man before him who was wearing a gently amused expression, kind gray eyes crinkled just the slightest at the edges.

"Who is it?" he queried, enjoying the boy's silent interpretation of Szayel; he put his hand into the common sign for a gun then pointed it at the bend of his elbow in representation of an injection.

"Hello, Szayel-san," standing and moving into the other room to stretch his muscles. He'd been at the finishing table for some time working on the new design that Yumichika had started playing with the other day, giving it certain flare that the man never would have thought of himself. "Is there something you need?"

"Ah," the cheery, higher octave on the other end of the line held something in check behind it and the designer mulled this over with a wrinkle in his brow. Ulquiorra, seeing the knit in his brow, walked over to his adoptive father and shyly grabbed his first two fingers in support; this garnered a smoothed brow, an affectionate smile – in which the green eyed boy internally basked – and a slight squeeze in return. "Shuu-chan..."

"Szayel-san? Are you well?" deep gray eyes glanced down towards emerald greens as he thought, keeping himself from furrowing his brows by the look of consternation in Ulquirra's half-lidded gaze.

"Shuu-chan, I've something I need to speak with you about."

Hisagi Shuuhei's heart clenched and he stroked the back of his son's pale fingers with his one lean, nimble, lightly callused thumb.

"What's happened?"

01010101

Leaning against the doorframe to the guest room, he felt his tight from stress chest ease and warm.

His two favorite people were cuddled up in the middle of the bed, asleep.

Although, you couldn't exactly call it cuddling when the only thing touching between them was their hands, both of Lillinette's wrapped around one of Tōshirō's, and her forehead pressed ever so slightly against his shoulder. The coldly beautiful fukutaicho's eyes and mouth were tight, hair mussed around his head and spreading its weightless length over the midnight blue pillowcase, pale cheeks flushed just the slightest bit. His fey-esque ear with it's slightly pointed tip was suddenly bared to the lean man's consuming eyes as the young man shifted his head slightly, the slim column of the creamy throat bared in the same instant, just begging for him to enjoy it. Beneath those smooth, lightly bruised from blood loss, lids his eyes flicked back and forth, dreaming something that Starrk probably couldn't imagine.

He looked delectable.

Next to the wounded young man lay his blonde chlorinated daughter, her eye patch shifted slightly, bearing to the world the pale skin of her eyelid and the golden brown of her long eyelashes. The tan line that was left by the patch always amused the taicho to no end. Her made-greenish hair had slid softly over her face, puffing up with her ever soft breath, her now visible eyelid still as he noted the other was twitching with dreams. Little ears with tiny pink studs in the lobe peeked out from behind her silky strands and Starrk knew that she was ticklish as all get-out just behind her ears and found a passing temptation to wake her in such a way, though managed to squash the urge with the knowledge that Tōshirō would be awoken by this action.

Quietly meandering closer to the scene, he paused by the bed, leaning his long, lean frame over the two to pull the blankets over Lillinette just a bit more, tucking her in the way he always did when he caught her sleeping somewhere. Gaze catching on the joined hands, he gave in to the urge to brush his fingertips over the two, passing over the girl's small hands to the young prodigy's and pausing on the cool, almost cold, feel of his soft skin. Without looking away, he stood there, arm outstretched, fingertips resting on the combined forces of the two most precious people in his world.

Slowly withdrawing his hand he brought it up into the dim light from the cracked open door, gazing at it as if the appendage held the answers to all of his problems.

What would he do without the verbal sparring matches with the young detective, the long debates about the worst parts of Grimmjow's personality? Who would he argue about books with, trading and borrowing novels that no other within the precinct would think to read, would have the attention span or inclination to try to? Who would control his daughter for him? How would he remember that he had to pick Lillinette up from school, or to eat while at work without the other there to remind him, badger him subtly to do what he needs to do? Grimmjow? Certainly not. Yammy? Hell no.

Sighing, he slowly lowered his hand to his pocket, closing his eyes against the thought. He suddenly felt overwhelmingly fatigued, and he hated it. He pressed his lips together and opened his eyes enough to see where he was going as he turned slowly on his heel and made his way to the door, pausing long enough to throw a lingering look over his shoulder at the two sleeping figures before quietly closing the door behind him. He could just see the lights of other people's houses from the edge of the living room window around the curtains, barely see the dark of the night sky.

When he'd almost lost something so important, when his friend's and his own lives had been so upset, the world still continued around them.

Rubbing his hand over his head he sighed again, walking over to plop down onto his leather recliner and throw up the footrest, clicking off the lamp next to it as he did so. He hated when he got melancholy, it messed with his normally placid thought process and made him want to tear someone a new one.

It made him lot like Grimmjow, actually.

MEMEMEME

Forgot to ask. I'd still like a couple reviews if I'm gonna keep this up, I need to know who I'm writing for and what ya'll think. Anyhoo, enjoy!


	4. Comfort

I would like you all to go and check out _Alyre_'s pole on her profile and vote on it. She's looking for GrimmIchi fans to vote and give their piece about what she should write. ^_^ thank you.

KIKIKIKI

Yawning and stretching, absently wiping his paint covered hands over his sweats, Ichigo felt his eyes water; he'd been sitting there for a while, and he _still _hadn't perfected the Grimm-blue. He'd managed to get a near perfect Lillinette-pink – he was considering calling it Lilli-pink when he had gotten the exact results he was looking for – but the color of the blue haired hunk eluded him. He needed that intense color right in front of his eyes, so that he could study those moody blues in every light he could manage, watch them flicker with emotion and those smooth lips quirk with amusement at him… those muscles shifting beneath the tanned skin, roped and wiry, callused hands –

_No, _he caught himself before he thought about it a little too deep. _Down boy. You've met the guy _once. _You need to seriously consider what the hell is going on with you. Is it hero worship or are you really having some fabled instant attraction with this guy? _He was unable to answer himself, and the thought that he would have to see the man again to be sure. The majority of the time that he'd known the scowling Adonis he'd been in shock so he couldn't exactly trust his judgment at the time.

Plus, the fact that he couldn't get this color was driving him insane.

Maybe he could…

Reaching for the phone, he ignored the slight flush of nervousness and excitement at the thought of what he was going to do; dialing the man's house number was hardly something he thought he'd do just a day after seeing him last. It would probably make him seem desperate, but that was the least of his worries. _He probably won't mind, seeing as he was the one who handed his number to me_, was how he placated himself. _He wanted me to get in touch with him._

Although, that might not've been the best of times, as his young – so very young, younger than Ichigo – partner was laid up, half-dead hating every dreaded minute of it, if the pinched look on his unconscious features had been anything to go by. Plus, Grimmjow had that Pantera person to look after and probably wasn't expecting the orangette to call any time soon, seeing as he was _supposed _to have a life.

Even as these thoughts flew through the art students head, he couldn't stop himself from dialing the number on the little piece of paper by the phone cradle. The hand holding the phone shook slightly as he held it to his ear, listening as the phone ranger once, twice, and…

"Moshi-moshi?" a giggling, young boy's voice called breathlessly, obviously struggling with someone.

"Umm…" the sound of Grimmjow growling playfully in the background and the child shrieking with laughter caused a small smile to slide over his features. "Hi."

More of the breathless laughter and the tiny thuds as he supposedly managed to escape from the now-chuckling larger blunette.

"Who's on the phone, brat?" the deeper tones of the man calling after who the young man was sure was Pantera were hard to hear over the phone and with the distance, but just the hint of it made Ichigo's mouth go dry and his palms itch with nervous energy.

"Hi," completely ignoring the question from the detective, the child's delighted voice caused the smile on his face to stretch out to a full-on grin as he settled down on the floor by some of his finished works. "I'm Sexta Pantera, who wants to be Jaegerjaques Pantera, but doesn't know if it's such a good idea to be formally related to Grimm-chan," Ichigo snickered softly. _Grimm-chan_. "And you are?"

"Ah, I'm Kurosaki Ichigo, nice to meet you," staring at one of his paintings of his friend Renji, his blood-red locks falling loose around his head, tribal tattoos looking exotic and foreign, the entire seen of him sitting back against a plum tree, the blossoms at the end of bloom and falling around him, his normal hair band sitting on the ground beside him where it'd fallen out. His black long-sleeved shirt was like a second skin, molding to all of his defined muscles and his larger frame, hands clasped over his stomach bunching his shirt slightly, revealing a slice of tan, tattooed hip over the top of his faded, holey jeans that'd seen one to many a wash. Chucks that'd once been black were now a light blue-gray from wear and tear, as they were his favorite pair, three years old and all.

He'd made Renji-red with that hair, and it was a difficult mix; he could manage Grimmjow-blue, it'd just be a challenge.

All he needed was the model.

"You sound like you're having fun, Pantera-kun," the orangette drawled as the child tried to stifle giggles, as if he were trying to hide.

"Yeah," he whispered softly, voice full of mirth. "Grimm-chan has been grumbly all afternoon because of Shiro-nii-chan getting hurt, and something about berries. It's a little weird. I don't think he's ever been angry at food before."

Berries.

_I friggin' hate my name, _the scowl was soft, as he still felt the affects of the boys mirth and his Grimm-chan's playful growling.

"Oh?" there was a clicking sound like a door opening and Pantera shushed the young man softly.

"C'mon, kid. It might be that Berry callin', an' I'd hate ta miss that call," the orangette shivered at the predatory grin he could _hear_ the man speak with. "He's got a nice voice. Makes me wanna' – "

"_Grimm_-chan!" the boy reprimanded before making an _umph _noise as Ichigo guessed he was lifted and deposited somewhere after revealing his position.

"Hello?" the art student bit his lip for a moment to keep his face from flushing, even without anyone there to see it.

"Uh, hi, Grimmjow," there was a stunned silence on the other end of the line, causing the young man to feel a moments nauseating apprehension, before the man chuckled darkly.

"That little punk," he muttered before the boy started to giggle in the background.

"So, uh," what was wrong with him? It was just a phone call, a color, and a verification of feelings. He normally wasn't such a pansy, but ever since the previous day, he just couldn't get back into his groove. It was starting to piss him off. "I've a question."

"Shoot," there was the sound of rattling glasses as the man moved to get himself something to drink.

"I want you," he blurted without thinking, flinching, face flaming at the sound of shattering glass on the other end.

_Well, that didn't come out the way it was supposed to, _he gulped, feeling lightheaded and positively mortified.

06060606

_"I want you."_

Who knew that three little words could cause him to swallow his tongue? He certainly hadn't expected it, and barely caught himself before he choked to death.

"I – I mean," the stuttering, stumbling Berry continued, his tone completely different from the direct and confident statement of before. "I meant that – I want – I want to paint you. Yes, paint you."

He was quite sure that he heard the pretty young man whispering over and over _Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God.._.

_This could prove interesting, _he thought, squatting down to pick up the larger pieces of glass and sticking his finger on one. Watching the little drop of blood before wiping it onto his jeans, he considered his choices.

He could sit at home with Pantera, worrying the small boy whilst internally worrying over Hitsuguya – and he loathed worrying

OR

He could go and sit down for a pretty, sleek, nervous student with a penchant for bringing his brows together in the most endearing fashion when he was thinking, scowling and frowning enough to give the detective a run for his money.

Hmm…

What the hell was he still at his house for?

"Neh, Ichi," he rumbling, grabbing the broom and dustpan to sweep up his mess and tossing it into the garbage under the sink.

"H-hai?" the voice was tight with embarrassment and Grimmjow grinned in his maniacal way.

"When and where?"

KIKIKIKI

When the art student opened his apartment door half an hour after getting off the phone he was shower fresh and nervous, but after seeing the scene that waited for him, he felt his nervous tension relax into amusement.

This kid totally _owned_ Grimmjow.

Messy – likely self-cut – choppy, chocolate brown hair topped the boy's head, and his face had this thinness that spoke of a stressful encounter, even on the youthful innocence that the child exuded. Gold eyes with the strangest shaped pupils he had ever seen – like a cat almost, although one was slightly crooked on the bottom half, twisting over to point at the outside corner of his eye. The orangette could just make out the outline of contacts on those strange, fascinating eyes, framing the dark honey outside and the brighter, clearer iris color towards the odd pupil. As he was sitting on the man's forearm, his own wrapped around the detective's strong neck, his smiling cheerfully face pressed up against the other's scowling visage, Ichigo could tell that this boy was much smaller than he should have been.

He was about the size of a seven year old, yet his face spoke that he was at least 10.

"Yo," the deep rumbled greeting from the blunette caused the slim, itchy feeling young man to turn and study him anew, taking particular interest in looking at the colors of his eyes and hair. "Ya gonna let us in?"

"Ah, Warry, come on in," he stepped aside, letting the odd duo within his humble abode.

Immediately after they crossed the threshold, the boy was out of his guardian's arms and poking into things, much to both of their surprise.

"Neh, Ichi-nii," _Ichi-nii._ That was a bit disconcerting; it was like having Yuzu and Karin around all over again. "You said you wanna paint us?"

"Yeah."

The boy looked up curiously, interested as he walked through the mid sized apartment, the two older males following behind him before immediately zoning in on the small canvas that the art student had started working on before he'd had the strong urge to bath again.

"Lilli-chan," the exuberance of before turned into awed delight. "You're painting Lilli-chan too!"

"Mhmm," was the slight, and probably ignored confirmation that the young art student gave.

The scene on the canvas was the one from the day before; Lillinette seated on Starrk's lap, looking for all the world like she owned the place whilst her handsome father let her take up his lap in the most uncomfortable seeming way, expression amused and tolerantly affectionate as he regarded his masterful daughter. Her pose was regal, as a queen would sit on her throne, pearl-pink eye direct and intense as she stared out at the viewer, chin tilted up with a subtle hint of challenge for those who would take it. It wasn't nearly finished, his base colors showing the framework of the rough sketch that he'd done beforehand in his sketchbook, as he hadn't yet made the right mixes but wanted to be ready when he had.

Gleefully the boy with the feline eyes spun around and opened his mouth to ask more questions when his stomach rumbled in answer to the afternoon timing.

There was momentary silence before Grimmjow bust up laughing from his spot just behind Ichigo, hot breath bursting across the back of the young man's neck, rumbling mirth pressing inside of the orangette's chest. Without thinking, Ichigo was smiling, but his body tensed and memory from the day before crashed through his head.

_"Ya feel good," he murmured thickly in the his ear, licking the sweaty, cold with nerves, neck before him with his sticky, not quite covered in saliva tongue and humming brokenly, Ichigo couldn't suppress the disgusted fear that caused him to shudder. "Taste good too."_

Stomach roiling, he was unaware of Pantera's scrutiny of his now-pale features, or Grimmjow trading a look with the boy that spoke volumes about the stiffened physique of the pretty young man before him.

The body length shudder that'd gone through the art student hadn't gone unnoticed.

10101010 _~ Earlier that day~_

He felt like shit.

Mouth filled with the disgusting I-need-to-brush-my-teeth film, forehead pulsing with the dull thud of his heartbeat, eyes strained and heavy, body moving as if in a haze as he slowly rolled to his side and slid his legs over the edge of the bed hissing lowly at the fire that simmered just under the skin of his back. Carefully straightening as much as he could, the white haired detective made his way to the door, intent on using the bathroom and cleaning what parts of himself he could without removing the bandages that swathed his pale body. Quietly slipping through the living room, the prodigy paused at the aching sight of his taicho slumped exhaustedly in the comfortable, special ordered recliner.

Those wavy dark locks shadowed his stubbly jaw, casting a gaunt darkness beneath his high cheekbones and light purple bruises hugged close to the man's dark eyes that could penetrate at a thought. The man's long, slim fingered hands were tucked into the opposing elbow, his torso leaning forward over his crossed arms, those long, leanly muscled legs were stretched out before him, the most comfortable seeming part of the odd position that the man was in.

Feeling the odd tightening of his chest at the knowledge that the man looked so strained due to his own injuries, Hitsuguya glanced down at his lightly bandaged hands, studying the itchy scabs beneath his fingernails and the yellow green bruises around his nail beds.

With another glance at his commanding officer the pale, battered and confused fukutaicho continued his trip to the bathroom.

As he entered the room, he sighed at the trembling of his muscles from the strain and constraint of the drugs on his weary system. Catching his own clear eyes in the mirror, he took a sharp, shallow breath, dimly registering the pinching pain in his chest at the action.

He _looked _like shit.

A light bruise was forming at the corner of his softly pink lips and oozing light green down over his jaw. His left eye dragged a bit, the slight swelling from a graze that'd been meant the knock him unconscious, only his instinctive jerk had saved him from a fate he was sure would have been worse than death.

He knew what he looked like, and that didn't warrant the traditional treatments of violence.

However, he'd managed to stay awake, and stay whole in that way, at least. A small part of him wished that he hadn't had to witness the fact that Ichimaru-taicho and Aizen-taicho were treacherous bastards who were involved with a great deal of the violence that enfolded Karakura Town.

_Ignoring the twitchy feeling at the base of his skull, the young detective watched his partner leave with the unconscious form of the young man Kurosaki Ichigo with a small amount of trepidation. Turning from the window he looked out of, he searched for any signs of life, noting with a frown that it didn't look in any way similar to the last time he'd been there._

_Where before there'd been dirty, soiled mattresses and couches, now there were clean, empty hardwood floors. When before there'd been smoke damage to the ceiling, it looked as if it'd been newly painted, and most of all; there were no people._

_Carefully walking foreword deeper into the silent house, he pondered the idea of calling in some back up for himself. Just because _Grimmjow_ hated backup didn't mean that Hitsuguya was opposed to the idea, he wasn't so confident that he could take whatever was thrown at him and be able to come out on top._

_He'd made that mistake before, and he didn't plan on doing it again._

_Reaching for his cell, he decided that it was worth getting that dubious, exasperated look from his partner to call in someone to back him up in case he found something. Even as he was setting up to call Ikkaku he continued deeper into the eerily clean house, eyes squinted slightly to focus just that bit more and see everything that was around him, the possible dangers that could evade him. When he came to the stairs that lead to the basement he felt his hand drop with a troubled frown._

_He didn't want to go down there._

_The prospect of having to delve farther into the earth, into a confined space with no view of the sky, was not a pleasant one. Normally he had Grimmjow to push crap like this onto, as the man was near fearless, and Hitsuguya and he had such a relationship that it was okay for him not to speak of the reasons for his irrational and purely learned fear. Uneasy feelings grew beneath his breastbone, hardening and twisting in uncomfortable knots as he gazed down into the dreary expanse of stairs before him, a dim light at the bottom signaling that Nnoitra had been down there recently._

_The decision of whether or not to go was decided for him when he saw a shadow pass through that shadowy light._

Damn_, was all he could think, allowing himself a deep breath to calm and center himself as he took the first careful step on to the descending staircase._

_1… 3… 5… 8… he counted and just before reaching 12, a hand snapped out and grazed his face, his awareness only saved by his unthinking reflexive jerk back. His cheekbone was numb where the blow had connected but he could feel the burning, stinging ache awakening in the aggrieved area. _

_Quickly backing up a couple of steps and reaching for his weapon, he struggled to take in his assailant only to choke and have his movement stutter as he took in the form of none other that Izuru Kira._

_Ichimaru-taicho's longtime, intimate fukutaicho._

_"Fuck," he breathed; this was too deep, he had to get out of there._

_Stumbling up a couple of steps backwards, the pale prodigy turned tail and booked it as fast as he could, clearing those stairs faster than he thought he could, but desperation and an ingrained fear of being trapped below with an enemy he couldn't fathom propelled him. Taking the corner at the end of the hall he could see the still ajar door that he'd entered through and let the sight spur him on faster._

_Kira was gaining on him, he could feel the vibrations of the other's pounding footsteps behind him could almost picture the blonde's hand stretched out to grab him._

_Hitsuguya was fast though and he felt the calculations of his ability over the other's to reach the door and run as fast and as far as he could were sound._

_Until he felt someone jerk back on his collar, causing him to grunt in a hoarse, choked way as pain jarred through his throat, blackness flooding his vision for a moment as he floundered and fell back against the larger body. His logical mind was confused for a second as he thought,_ Kira isn't that much bigger than me, who could…

_"O-haiyo, Shirō-chan~," the slim eyed, silver haired man sing-songed, an odd tilt to his narrow lips._

_Ichimaru-taicho._

Shaking his head a bit to clear the images from his head he grimaced at the thudding that awoke in his skull at the motion. He didn't want to think about that now.

Studying himself in the mirror again, his eyes lingered on the banana-bruise on his collar bone from where Aizen had let Kariya Jin take a small taste of him, while the other man had obviously wanted more, the calmly insane and manically amused ex-taicho hadn't wanted to take things that far yet. _Yet._ Tightening his lips again, he made his gaze travel over the multitude of small bruises that dotted his arms from harsh grips and his torso from rough handling. His ribs were wrapped tightly, stiff to hold him mostly upright so as to keep him from injuring himself further with careless movement too soon after his near encounter with pain and helplessness.

Lifting his bandaged and sore hands, he again studied the scabs beneath his nails, shifting his attention to the pulsing sting beneath his nail beds in displeasure at the wounds to this specific area of his person.

He would even be much use for _office_ work for a while, let alone manage to clean himself up.

Without thinking, he turned his head to the left, only to note with minimal surprise that his superior officer was leaning against the doorjamb, lazy eyes trained on the pale prodigies pale, bruised young features. Clear sky blue eyes widened just the slightest bit as they regarded the tall, slim man before him, taking in the ready stance that he held, as if ready to jump in to help him at any moment should he require assistance.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" a glance at the clock told this to be true, but really, it wasn't like the taicho had never come in late before.

"Probably," was all that was returned, the tone calm, low and deep; it reassured the youth in a way he hadn't known he needed. "But it can wait."

Silence stretched between them, and the young man could feel his weary muscles begin to hum under the stressful tension that was slowly integrating into his system.

"Hey."

Clear, icy eyes met with solid steel, the older taking note of the soft fatigue filling in the youthful, pale body.

"Want some help to wash up? I know you hate getting dirty," pushing off the doorjamb, Starrk straightened and sidled a little closer as he studied the poor form before him. "Your skin must feel like it wants to crawl off of you."

_Well, _the fukutaicho thought in bizarre, amused uncertainty. _He knows me pretty well._

He hadn't had the internal, shy delight of someone knowing something personal like that about him in quite a while. No matter how young he was, he still felt the space of time where he'd been so _alone _as a gap he'd never be able to get back.

_1… 2… 3… _the seconds ticked by before he nodded in ascent.

"Alright then," was the soft, kindly, and oh-so deep murmur.

Hitsuguya shivered under that dark gaze, knowing that he could blame it on the weakness of his trembling muscles, but also understanding that it had happened for a completely different reason.

_Yes_, he thought as the man wet washcloth with warm water and put body wash on it. _I have to be careful with this man._

He might just start to care too much.

04040404 (Ulquiorra, just so as we're clear)

Sitting as close to the warmth of his adoptive father as he could without being in his lap, the green eyed boy with the bored gaze studied his hands, well aware that the only reason that his Hisagi-san would be so upset was when it had to do with him. Szayel had said something to the man that made him more concerned for the lean man's health than what exactly it was that the doctor had said. Mostly likely, it had to do with the time of Before, when the boy was still held under those tight, painful conditions that had nearly killed him before the other had found him and taken him home, to care for him without question, never making the boy leave the comfort of his savior's presence.

Hope that the news wasn't something that would tear apart his life with the coal eyed man fluttered in his thin chest.

He'd learned long ago that his hopes didn't usually work out.

The man who sat opposite them on the love seat adjusted his half-rimmed white glasses, his pink hair held back out of his face by two white clips, showing off his narrow, pale features – it was quite easy to tell that he used facial products – and his narrow brows furrowed against whatever news he had to deliver to the kind, weary designer.

"Shuu-chan," the doctor started. "We've got a problem."

"Yes," Ulquiorra gripped the larger, darker hand with his own small, pale, scarred one at the light hint of tenseness in his family's voice. "So I heard."

Silence but for the shifting of the slim, feminine man – who was surprisingly hetero – on the opposing love seat from their cushy recliner that was just big enough for both of them to sit in comfortably; Ulquirra had picked it out, knowing that his Hisagi-san couldn't say no to him and that the man had no idea he wanted it just so that he could sit closer to the other.

That was the kind of oblivious that the other was, and the green eyed boy liked it that way.

"It would seem," continued the pesky, pink haired doctor. "That the one who was harming Ul-chan before he came to you," the boy's thin body stiffened. It couldn't be. "Has struck again in the most unlikely of places."

Peeking up through his dark bangs at his coal eyed father, the scarred boy felt his warm designer pass his thumb over the back of his knuckles to comfort him, calmly stroking his hand with his larger, slightly callused fingertips.

"What do you know of Aizen Sōsuke, Ichimaru Gin, and Tōsen Kaname?"

The harsh inhalation of breath and the complete and utter stillness of his adoptive father's body spoke louder than anything he could have ever said. Even as he knew this, the hollow eyed child had one confused thought.

_Who's __Tōsen Kaname, and what does he have to do with Aizen-sama and Ichimaru-sama?_

MEMEMEME

Enjoy!


	5. Rampant Emotions

My readers, dear readers, I would enjoy some reviews from those who've been with me from the beginning! They make me smile, and from those who've come later, it wouldn't cause you severe pain to do so! Just thought I'd let you know. ^_^

P.S. I'm starting to write some one or two-shots about how Hisagi got Ulquirra, Grimmjow Pantera, and Hitsuguya first joining the force before he partnered with Grimmjow. I've already got the first part of the Hisagi-Ulquiorra one up. It's titled _Lines of Three_, so go look, s'il vous plea!

69696969

Bracing himself against the sink counter after having excused himself from Szayel-san and Ulquirra-kun, Hisagi forced himself to take measured, even breaths. He had to keep calm, hold back the flood of adrenaline that tried to swamp his system and send him into a panic attack at the name of _that man_. Carefully unclenching his white knuckled fingers from the counter before him, he licked his frighteningly, suddenly dry lips, unaware enough of the pain not to feel the urge to flinch from the tearing of his sensitive skin. Studying his now-lined and indented palms and fingers, he let his mind drift momentarily, remembering why he loathed being called 'Shuu-chan' but couldn't find the gumption to tell others off when they did so.

_"Shuu-chan," the soft, logical voice murmured in his ear, the tense pain in the boy's body as the dark man behind him continued the assault was ignored in the most insane way; the man thought that he was enjoying himself when he loosed whatever sounds he couldn't manage to choke back. "Shuu-chan, I love you."_

_It hurt, those words, as did the action that was being forced upon him, but what hurt the most, was the fact that some primal part of his young body enjoyed this. More than the fact that this man who was supposed to be caring for him in a healthy, familial manner was using his body in such a fashion, hurting him was the burning pain in the back of his mind and deep in his chest._

_This was rape of the mind. Every time he said the words…_

_"Shuu-chan, I love you…" a soft, caring murmur with the painful force moving in him repeatedly, never slowing or speeding._

_… He lost himself a little more to the madness that surrounded him._

Jerking at the small, hesitant tug on the bottom of his shirt, Hisagi straightened with a snap, a shallow gasp bringing him back to awareness and the realization that he'd probably just scared the fragile boy in his care.

The glance down at those shaded emerald eyes was enough to confirm this and he felt as if he'd just been sucker punched.

His thin frame was hunched over slightly, brows drawn together with the unfamiliarity of the actions that his adoptive father had let overcome him for those few minutes. Those thin, sometimes tensed beyond belief lips had a downward cast that reflected the scarred boy's dislike for the behavior and the pain that the other had communicated through his absolute stillness.

"Ah, Gomen, Ulquiorra-kun," he supplied, his chest heavy even as he pushed back the tumult of memories that threatened to swamp him and the life he'd made for himself. "I didn't mean to –"

Shaking his head in slight, undeniable negation, the boy slid his slightly trembling pale, scarred hand to his adopted Otou-san's – forcing it to keep still just before contact as if to deny the nervous action on his body's part ever happening – and squeezing lightly in self-reassurance of Hisagi's stability.

It was the calm consistency that had won him over in the end.

"Shuu-chan," hearing himself called that in that moment made the designer grind his teeth as he looked up at the pink haired, completely serious doctor. "We really need to talk."

"Yes," letting his adoptive son hesitantly guide him into the other room anew, he steeled himself for what was to come. "Let's talk."

KIKIKIKI

The time he'd spent with Grimmjow and Pantera was less productive than he'd originally hoped, but it was fun, affectionate and wildly fantastic in its own way at the same time; he didn't think he'd've rather had it any other way. Since there hadn't been any food in the art students home – the _incident_ from the day before being the cause – they'd gone out, and Ichigo had taken a smaller sketchpad with him so that he wouldn't miss anything and could quickly scratch outlines of things for later when inspired. They'd drifted the majority of the day, Pantera flowing between the two for who he would hang off of like a monkey, only to wear himself out towards the end of the day and curl up on Grimmjow's lap like a kitten, rubbing his face against the man's broad chest, drowsily affectionate.

_"He's out like a light," the orangette felt more like himself after the enjoyable day, and his voice showed his dry amusement. "When I get the feeling we should be the ones he's run into the ground."_

_It was hard for him not to enjoy that deep chuckle, or to feel a slow warmth in his chest when the other smoothed his larger, strong hand over the small child's back, curling the other arm around him to effectively keep him balanced comfortably on his lap and against his chest. _

_Funny, the blunette didn't look the maternal type._

_When he said as much whilst snickering, the other man sent him a withering glance and a shrug, which downplayed his enjoyment of bothering the other, but gave him the chance to enjoy the liquid view of his arm muscles rippling beneath tan skin._

Damn_, was all he could think. He'd been ogling the man all day, and not just because he was a fine work of art he'd like to master. Well, mostly._

_There were many facets to the intriguing detective that he'd not noticed before with his primal attraction and traumatic latching onto the other man; he'd managed to figure out the affinity for the other quite well, and while he _was_ attracted to the other – who could blame him? – he had no lasting attachment to the other._

_Yet._

_With the boy he'd claimed was his, "_Sort of", _he was generally irritating and exasperating, as well as protective and unconsciously encouraging. With Ichigo, he was flirtatious, vulgar, intelligent, insightful, exasperating, irritating, oblivious, callus, caring and possessive, all at the same time. There were moments when the art student had worried that his head would explode with overload of analyses when it came to the larger man. _

_"Yeah, well, the brat gets tired pretty easy," that low rumble made Ichigo's teeth ache with the desire to copy the child in the man's arms and use the other as a pillow. "He's got some heart problems and shit."_

Wonder what he'd feel like if I…. Wait, what?_ The orangette's thoughts screeched to a halt at this new information._

_"Is it serious?" he queried, hating the awkward feeling that he was prying and surprised at the genuine, deeper concern for the boy. He hoped that he didn't get himself too attached only to find that his… "relationship" with the attractive man end._

_"Nah," a slight breath of relief on the younger man's part. "Not if he's careful."_

_They were silent, watching the array of colors that washed over the fountain in the middle of the park, dying the water spectacular reds and oranges, like flame._

_His hand itched for a brush and easel._

_"Ya saw his eyes, yeah?" startled, honey-dark orbs blinked and turned to find the detective watching his face intently. The resulting flush that ran lightly over his features awakened the young man's scowl and caused his brow to furrow in displeasure._

_"I did, kind of hard not to," _they're fantastic, _he found he couldn't add, for fear of that suggestive leer in his direction._

_He didn't feel like testing his self control at the moment._

_"He's got CES, stands for Cat-Eye Syndrome," those electric blues never let the orangette's chocolaty orbs go, unrelenting in their hold of him, even as his grip on the child tightening minutely, a telling sign of what he felt for the boy. "'S why he's so small for his age an' his eyes got that tint and shit. Heart's pretty weak, so he's on a special diet and shit."_

Just how often does this guy say "and shit"? _He wondered, his brows drawing together in thought._

_"I was wondering…" he paused, breaking eye contact in his uncertainty at the wash of strong emotion that the other hadn't been able to contain – or hadn't felt like withholding – as he spoke._

_"What?"_

_"… Well," taking a spit second decision, and wondering at his own boldness when he barely knew the guy, he plunged on. "He's obviously not yours, by blood, I mean, so…"_

_"Ah."_

_Silence._

_The beeping of the detective's phone caused them to startle, Grimmjow instinctively careful to not wake the slumbering Pantera in his arms. Whatever the message was, as the blunette listened, his expression darkened menacingly before the art student could hear his teeth grind._

_"Hai, wakatta," that smooth, deep voice was snappy and harsh as he spoke. "Be there in a few, Starrk."_

_Hanging up, he carefully stood, Ichigo doing the same, knowing that the other was to part and ignoring the parts of him that were relieved and achingly disappointed each. The blue haired Adonis settled Pantera on his arm in a similar fashion as to when they'd arrived at the orangette's apartment earlier that day and considered the young man before reaching his callused, free hand towards his face._

_The smooth roughness, like fine-grained sandpaper, against his cheek caused his breath to hitch and his blood boil. That hated flush spread over his cheeks and he scowled, which turned into a strained frown as he was able to shift slightly away, but not far enough so as not to feel the steady warmth radiating from the others hand._

_"Ja ne, Ichi," he chuckled, turning to leave, throwing a leer over his shoulder for good measure, the sleeping child in his arms doing nothing to dampen his appeal._

_A part of Ichigo even found that it strengthened it._

_"Don't call me that!" he managed in return, enjoying the rich laughter of the other even as he himself turned to walk away to his own little apartment that smelt of art supplies and dust._

_Alone._

So there he was sitting, on the floor, contemplating the larger sketches he'd made after copying the smaller scale ones he'd made during the day that he'd spread out before him. There were so many to choose from, and he knew that he wanted to pick one out to start on, even as he knew he should finish the Lillinette and Starrk one first. _Right now it wouldn't have the right feelings put into it, _he argued internally, the battlefield within calming as he thought. _My mood affects my work, bleeds into it. If I'm still full of Grimmjow and Pantera, then…_

"Shit!" he exclaimed softly, falling back to lay on the floor, legs still folded in the criss-cross position he'd been sitting in.

He'd forgotten to make the Grimm-blue.

"Son-of-a- !" he snarled, pulling at his messy orange locks in frustration.

That had been the whole _point_ of his calling the attractive detective! Well, _most_ of it…

"Whoa, Ichigo," a musical male voice intoned, amused and curious as he walked through the door. "What got you so worked up?"

He didn't bother to sit up as he would have for the majority of his other friends had they entered his apartment, but this was _Renji _for crying out loud. The crimson haired man was dressed in a dirty, baggy black hoody and a pair of boot-cut jeans that fit snug on his powerful thighs, faded with paint and caulking marks from work, the knees a little tattered with holes starting to peak through; they were pretty much done for society and only good for work at this point. Knowing that the man's dirt encrusted work boots were at the entranceway, he wondered if the other was going to have to get a new pair of those as well, as he ran through them rather quickly. There was even a smudge of was looked like _plaster_ on the man's face, marring the thin tribal tattoos just above his brows, the parts not covered by the grimy once-white bandana that was now a rather unattractive beige, almost like wet sand with hints of white and grey from the same treatment as the worker's pants.

The man had never used a napkin or the like in his life, just wiped his hands on his pants.

"You're gonna have to go shopping soon," he spoke without thinking about it, the familiar comfort of his childhood best friend leaving him at ease and open. "You're pants are almost dead."

Ignoring the orangette, as he was wont to do, the private music artist and public carpenter walked carefully around the pictures on the floor, studying them. And frowning the way he did when he was thinking and couldn't quite remember what exactly it was he was trying to remember.

"So, new guy already, huh?" he taunted, causing Ichigo's scowl and for him to sit up and start gathering his things. "Hey, I was just kidding around."

Something within the orangette started twisting and he had the strong urge to bathe again, and was starting to realize that he'd never felt the need to bathe more than two times a day, tops. Obviously, there was something he was missing.

"Well, don't," he snapped, feeling oddly jittery and lightheaded, blinking in shock for a moment at the sight of his shaking hands. "Shit…"

"Ichigo," his best friend knelt before him, studying and taking the artists smooth, agile hands between his own rougher, coarse ones. "What's wrong? What'd I miss?"

Renji, being oddly magnanimous, helped Ichigo out with half his rent, with his being a poor university student self and all, as well as Ichigo's near identical twin, Kurosaki Shiro; it boggled the mind how the two men could stand each other half the time, but they seemed to have an alliance of some sort between them. Although the majority of the time Renji lived with the albino, as the other tended to get into trouble without someone to watch him, he sometimes came and crashed on Ichigo's spare futon, to keep the boy company and make sure that he was alright and not lonely. Even if half the time the art student wouldn't admit it – even to himself – that those he'd known long enough could tell when he needed people around, despite the fact that he himself denied this fact, trying to claim at times he was a loner.

"Renji…" a single, full-body shudder ran over him after he spoke, but it was all the information that his childhood friend needed to pull him in to a comforting, warm embrace.

A small part of his mind, so tiny he wasn't consciously aware of it, wondered if he'd feel this comfortable safety in Grimmjow's arms as well, even though he'd never found it in the arms of someone he had a romantic interest in. Would this man be different if he let a relationship between them grow, or would he still be the one comforting? He doubted the latter, but…

The majority of him, however was mortified and relieved that he had his longtime friend around when he had the first emotional breakdown he'd had since his mother's death.

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The man was pissing him off in the most hateful way.

That _look_.

He doubted that the other was consciously aware that he was blaming his friend for the circumstances that had lead to the blunette's partner's present condition, but he was still giving the fukutaicho that _look, _the one that said it was all Grimmjow's fault that the pale, attractive young man was so injured that he couldn't properly control the neutrality of his expression the way that he normally could. Usually kind, sleepy gray eyes were sharp and pointed, cutting deeper than any knife he'd ever had shoved into his gut ever had, and he hated the way that his old friend could get to him, that he _let_ the other man get to him.

He didn't like that fact that this time, the other was most likely right in his subconscious accusation.

_Fuck,_ running his hand over his face and back through his blue locks at the uncomfortable emotions of guilt and remorse balling up in his chest. _Fuck this shit._

"Grimmjow," his superior started, taking his sharp gaze away from the other and as he did so, the expression in them morphed into his natural lazy look as his eyes passed over Hitsuguya and the two children who flanked him on his couch from the two men's position in the kitchen on the other side of the house. "I need you to get some information for me, from Szayel and Unohana-san."

The grim expression on the blunette's face was so similar to the one that Starrk had first witnessed when they were children that the taicho flinch internally; he understood that he was the cause in some way, just as much as the injury to the man's partner was, possibly more so.

"Why both?" the fukutaicho queried, clearly trying to keep himself occupied in this sense so as not to think about the churning emotions within himself. "What one knows, generally the other does too. They're like one medical dictionary split in two."

High pitched squealing giggles came from the other room, drawing both of their gazes, and softened the men's severe expressions at what they saw.

The brunette's couch was angled towards the kitchen, so they had a clear picture of Lillinette and Pantera rolling around on the ground, obviously having a tickle fight of some kind, and both being careful not to bump into the wounded prodigy sitting on the couch with a tired, content expression on his bruised, paler than usual features. The two would paused every once in a while and glance up at him, trying to stifle giggles only to be unable to once the genius would let his lips twitch into the semblance of an affectionate smile.

_Ah,_ Grimmjow thought, watching as Pantera's face lit up at the show of warmth and the child's easy hand holding with the older girl. _It could have been so much worse for all involved._

"Szayel looked like he'd seen something similar to what happened to Tōshirō-kun," his superior officer's voice was softer and amused as he watched the three youths in his home. "And I want to know exactly where he saw something of that nature. I want to talk to whoever it was that had those injuries."

"Wakatta," Grimmjow stood from the stool he'd been sitting on opposite the other man, gaze flicking over his partner, cataloging the wounds anew to be sure what he was to question the two doctors about. "I'll do that then. Watch the brat for me?"

"Of course," the response was thoughtless; he'd never turn the small boy away. "They can smother Tōshirō-kun together."

Chuckling as he turned to leave, he paused as the other called his name, tilting his head to look over his shoulder at the brunette and raising his brow cockily.

"Oh, Grimmjow," there was amused curiosity in the man's voice. "How'd your date go?"

01010101

The shit-eating grin that spread across his friends face was all the answer he needed and he gave his own grin back, acknowledging the blunette's primal, possessive pleasure of the strawberry's company. Part of him had been spitefully gleeful at the prospect of interrupting the other man's good time; how could he be enjoying himself with a pretty young man when his partner was suffering in silence and not blaming the blunette in the slightest? The majority of him, however, had been regretful of the need to call upon the other to question the two doctors, but it'd been necessary, and really, he wouldn't be the only one looking into it.

He'd requested the assistance of Kyōraku Shunsui and Ukitake Jūshirō on the matter, as they had been in the loop longer and different contacts than he did, as well as they both had a soft spot for the young genius.

"Well," the grumbling, arrogant voice of the man who could be considered his best friend made his lips twitch anew; cocky bastard. "Ja."

"Ja ne."

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"After my initial examination of Ul-chan I did some research," Szayel murmured to the designer, his orange-yellow gaze direct and grim, eyes half-lidded behind his half-rimmed glasses as he regarded the stiff man before him; he could infer as to the reason for the man's unease, but wasn't quite sure. "I know of your affiliation with Tōsen Kaname, but I need to know if you know Aizen Sōsuke or Ichimaru Gin."

He allowed his coal-gray gaze to travel from the grave directness of the eccentric doctor's over towards the young boy who'd filled his life with more happiness than he'd ever thought it could be on the other side of his flat, carefully drawing out lines for his personal wardrobe that Hisagi made for him when the green eyed boy asked for a new outfit. A slight frown of concentration curved over those serious lips, only noticeable if you knew the boy well, the tiny crease of his brow as he thought of the same persuasion. It was a look that the man had seen often since he'd adopted the boy, one that confirmed that the scarred, silent child was comfortable enough to allow his emotions room to show themselves, if only under strict control and circumstances.

The worry in those shy eyes was a look he saw often as well, much to his chagrin.

"Ah," he breathed in affirmation to the pink haired man after a few moments of watching his son. _His_ son. The wonder of it would never cease, no matter how much time passed. "I've met them."

"Through your foster father, I presume?"

"Hai," he couldn't help the clipped tone of his voice at the mention of Muguruma Kensei, the taicho of the 9th precinct. He didn't like it when he felt someone was accusing Kensei-san of something, even knowing that the question was completely innocent.

"What do you know of them?" the relief he felt at the normalcy of the tone the other man was using caused him to release a breath slowly, eyes shifting again to his pale, dark haired child whose expression hadn't changed in the time that he'd been regarding the doctor.

"Just that they are the taicho's of the 5th and 3rd precincts, respectively," a frown crossed the lean, attractive designer's features. "And that I don't like Aizen-san."

Szayel made a sound of surprised interest at this, even as he shifted at the quiet ringing of his phone and dug into his coat pocket, the white coat being folded precisely next to him. A pink brow rose as he regarded the name on the screen that blinked at him.

"If you would pardon me a moment, Shuu-chan," looking askance at the lean, tattooed man he took the call at the man's slight nod of acquiescence.

"O-haiyo, Grimm-chan," the sing-song voice with which he answered grated lightly on the polite, calm man's nerves and he couldn't help but shift in his seat. "Is there something you needed?"

"Ah," the rumbling, deep tone that Hisagi could hear from where he sat caused his stomach to flutter uncomfortably and his mouth to tingle oddly. "Where are ya? We need ta talk."

Uncomfortable and little disturbed at his reaction to the unknown man's voice coming through a _cell phone – _of all things to get a reaction from him –the designer shifted in his seat again, this time away from the disturbingly pleasant voice and his own reaction to it.

"I assume that this is about Shiro-chan," _Shiro-chan?_ The designer wondered before making a startlingly accurate assumption that this was the wounded person that Szayel had mentioned before. "I've already told Starrk everything –"

_Starrk? _Surprise caused the man to sit up straighter and glance at the doctor out of the corner of his eye. _Coyote Starrk of the 1__st__ precinct? Then that means that they're in the police… wait, _his brow furrowed in mild irritation. _Why doesn't he get that insufferable "_chan"_ at the end of his name?_

"Shut up, Szayel," that delightfully uncomfortable voice snapped in a growl; he didn't seem to be in the mood for the doctor's annoyingly chipper attitude. "Cut the crap. What do ya know?"

"Ah…" as the other gave Hisagi a grimacing glance, it all struck a chord within the designer. "Well, as I was saying, I told Starrk –"

The _Grimm-chan_ on the other line snarled and the pink haired doctor silenced immediately.

_Wish I could do that,_ he thought idly as he stood and started towards the kitchen in the mindset to make himself some calming tea.

It all made disturbing sense suddenly, and as he froze in his movement towards the other room he was dazedly filled of cold fury and loathing.

Aizen-san, Ichimaru-san and _that man_ were the people who'd done all of those horrible things to his Ulquiorra, and now they'd done so to this _Shiro-chan_ of the _Grimm-chan_ with the wonderfully awkward-making voice. The fact that two of them were precinct taicho's was no small thing in the designer's mind; he was distantly distressed at how all of this would affect Kensei-san. However, the presence of Ichimaru-san's name among those responsible surprised him as it wouldn't have others, as on the surface, Aizen-san and Ichimaru-san were polar opposites, with Aizen-san being the more pleasant of the two. The tattooed man had always felt uncomfortable around the brunette taicho with his polite glasses, as if he knew things about Hisagi that he'd rather not have known by _anyone_ but couldn't help the few who did. Ichimaru-san, whilst creepy and exasperating at times, had always seemed the more sincere of personality, and though he didn't show it openly, Hisagi was sure that the pale taicho had a severe dislike for the 5th precinct taicho.

The buzzer of his floor went off and he blinked.

_Who…? _

Changing his course, he made his way to the front door, only to look out the peephole and freeze as he saw the face on the other side.

"Szayel-san," he called softly after backing away from the door enough that he was confident he wouldn't be heard by the man on the other side of the entryway. "Would you mind taking Ulquiorra-kun into the other room for a moment?"

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At hearing his name, the boy looked up inquiringly, only to be disturbingly unable to interpret the queer expression on his adoptive father's face, the bemused shock and careful neutrality of his eyes, so his green gaze traveled to the irritating doctor, as if his expression could tell him something about why his family's visage was so changed. The only thing that the doctor did though, was frown slightly at the expression on the other man's face before behind his spectacles his orange eyes widened and he stood, cell phone still held to his ear as he did so, gesturing for the scarred boy to follow him as he exited the living room and headed towards the opposite side of the flat.

Before following the other, Ulquiorra looked again at his father only to receive a nod that told him to go with the other.

Doing as he'd been told, the green eyed boy frowned a more severely and hugged his sketchbook to his chest.

Who was on the other side of that door?

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Waiting until he couldn't hear the two sets of retreating footsteps, he turned and opened the door to the man on the other side; the man knew he'd be home, it was no secret that he stayed home on Thursday's, and he _never_ changed this, as Ulquiorra enjoyed the routine of it.

"Hisagi-kun," the deep, cultured, kind voice of the man on the other side of the doorway greeted before taking a step inside, forcing the lean, tattooed man back, followed by three men who the designer was unfamiliar with.

"Aizen-san," he returned, nodding politely to the man whom he had newfound malice regarding.

The cruel enjoyment in those warm brown eyes and the harsh cant to that smile made the younger man swallow lightly, his mouth dry with fear and rage.

As the door closed behind the men whom the 5th precinct taicho had brought with him, Hisagi hated.

Oh, how he hated.

MEMEMEME

So… Comment, yeah?


	6. White Jackal

Arigatou Gozaimasu yo! (Totally don't know if I spelled that right, but yeah, whatever!) Your feelings reach within me and bring for more chapters for you to enjoy! I've been chastised for my use of switchy point of views, and will now endeavor to try and give you more GrimmIchi, rather than what comes easiest to write! De wa!

KIKIKIKI

It would have been embarrassing, if he hadn't felt so drained, to be sitting against his friend this way, like the pansy he _knew_ he wasn't, but couldn't help feeling like every once in a while. His friend was sitting with his back against the wall, long legs stretched out in front of him, with his arm wrapped around the orangette as said art student leaned into his side, head heavy against his best friend's muscled shoulder. The slightly younger man's face felt hot, eyes and throat thick, as if he'd been crying, which he'd barely avoided doing as the majority of his body gave in to the horror of the previous day, and the unwarranted inner speculation on whether or not things could have gotten so much _worse_ if it hadn't been for the boy who was now severely injured; there was guilt for that as well, mixed in with other undesirable emotions. Since his whole body felt heavy and malleable, there was little he could do when Renji stood, slowly drawing his smaller frame with him, carefully arranging the orangette's arm over his broad shoulders, and taking the majority of the others exhausted weight.

"Let's get you to bed, yeah?" it was the first words other than comforting and soothing ones that'd left the crimson haired man's mouth since the beginning of his… fit.

"Ah," was his tired reply before they steadily traveled to the other side of the small apartment where Ichigo's cramped bedroom was. "'M tired…"

"I'll bet," he murmured as he set the other onto his mussed bed; he never fixed it after he got up in the morning. "Usually you're such a tight-ass that you let all that shit bottle up. I'm surprised that managed to knock some sense into you."

"Urusai, boke," the orangette slurred as he began to fall asleep anew, knowing that after he awoke, he'd get that itchy feeling, that need to bathe once again.

"Baka," was the last thing he heard his friend murmur as the blankets were tugged up under his chin.

ARARARAR (Renji, by the by, since I already have an 06, and a pretty darn cute one at that ^_^)

He made his way into the other room again, frowning at the churning pinch within his chest that signaled his worry in a much more unpleasant manner than it had only moments before. It took a lot for something to push Ichigo over the edge; the guy was steady as a rock and just as thick at times. The orangette was probably the mellowest out of their longtime circle of friends, except when they'd get into the most ridiculous arguments about who-knows-what, and then he was just like the rest of them. Whilst Inoue was the general mediator of the group, whenever the art student would step in to a quarrel, they would stop immediately at his active opposition to the altercation.

Knowing his childhood friend as he did, he also knew that he'd need someone different when the nightmares set in.

So as he listened to the phone ring, he gathered up the scattered sketches of the handsome man – who looked irritatingly familiar – and the cute kid with odd eyes, placing them on the small foldout table with the majority of the orangette's other works. Sometimes he'd come in after the younger man was asleep, and seeing his art supplies scattered around the tiny apartment, he'd clean them up and put them where they were supposed to go, and Ichigo never seemed to notice. He always somehow knew exactly where the red haired carpenter had put his things without a moment's thought, zoning in on what he was looking for perfectly, with a precision that spoke of familiarity.

"_Ah_?" was the irritated, half-asleep greeting from the other end of the line. "Wha' ya wan'?"

"Yo, Shiro," the worried best friend could almost picture the narrowing of the albino's alien eyes as he realized who it was that'd called him at the ungodly hour.

"What's wrong with my otouto?"

"You sure woke up fast," he commented as he set another sketchbook back where it was supposed to go, his eyes catching on the canvas that portrayed himself that Ichigo had insisted he be allowed to paint. "It makes a guy wonder if you've got a brother complex."

"Shut the fuck up, Aka," with his smoky rough voice the other snapped, the rustle of sheets and the moaned query of some unknown person in the background as the secret chef sat up. "Go to sleep," was directed at the person who would be gone in the morning and never seen again, before the alien eyed man returned to his conversation with one of the few people he could call 'friend'. "What happened to him? He called me yesterday saying that he wouldn't be able to make it out to Oyaji's place, asking _me _to be the bearer of bad news. You know how fuckin' weird that is?"

Renji paused, considering what to tell the other over the phone, knowing it would be better just to have him come over so that he could explain it then, and so that the other man could be present to take control when the nightmares started.

"You need to come out here."

Another pause, this was pronounced by the shifting of clothes as the slim albino dressed himself.

"_Fuck_," he drawled before hanging up.

The sound of the door opening quietly some 15 minutes later caused the tired construction worker, fresh from the shower, to raise a red brow in amused resignation; the elder twin would break sound barriers to get to his otouto. No matter what he said otherwise, he was very protective of his twin. He lived all the way across town, in a rather nice apartment, mostly paid for with his own money, some of it earned the honest way with his cooking – which Renji was strictly forbidden to speak to the orangette about, as the other said it would ruin his reputation, under fear of mutilation – and the rest the red head didn't ask about, but had a feeling it had to do with the constant stream of bodies that flew through the albino's bed nightly.

He wasn't about to ask.

Really, the only thing that the construction worker paid for in their apartment was the ingredients, and those were carefully picked out by the closet chef. He'd sneer at the larger man when he pointed out that it would be easier just to get a bunch of cheap TV dinners, or some frozen lasagna; something of that sort. Something that _normal _bachelors their age ate. Honestly, the private musician ate more home cooked meals while living with the irritable younger man than when he'd been living back with Rukia and Byakuya.

Looking up from rubbing a well used towel over his long, surprisingly thick red locks, he let himself idly admire his childhood acquaintance and sometimes friend, depending on the circumstances.

If there was one thing that the twins shared, it was their stunning attractiveness.

While one might assume that someone with alabaster skin is creepy, ethereally beautiful, or unhealthy, none of these could be put into play for the alino. Shiro looked dangerous. Every line of his lean, angular physique spoke of the possibility of animalistic violence, and the gleam in his two toned eyes that he'd enjoy said violence; _immensely_. While Ichigo, his color counterpart, looked athletic and sleek, the older twin looked dangerous, like a jackal waiting to tear you down with his wicked teeth and claws. In his case, his blatant distaste for the majority of the human population, which came into its fullest when you pissed him off and he verbally ripped the offender a new one, and his fists; he fought dirty, unlike his more principled otouto. Dressed in a black leather jacket that accentuated his slender, feline frame, and dark jeans that had faint flour dusted in the shape of hands on the thighs – he most likely had just thrown on the clothes that he'd worn earlier that day – as well as a pair of expensive biker boots, his ivory skin glowed in the cheap florescent light of the entryway, his dark and light eyes glowing eerily from behind his slow-moving lids.

_He's worried,_ the construction worker confirmed, watching as the elder twin shifted his jaw slightly, as if testing the sharpness of his fangs, noting the way that one shoulder was rolled forward, his confident stance marred by the sign of discomfit with the delicate emotions directly connected to his otouto. _And he's tired. _

"Well?" the smoky bedroom voice grated out, eyes seeking slowly around the small, cluttered apartment for signs of disruption. "What's up with Ichigo?"

_Looks calm enough_, he decided after studying the other man again, glad that the man had already been laid that night, so some of his natural frustration and nervous energy had been exerted. _Guess I can just tell him straight out._

So he did.

"Ichigo was held at gunpoint yesterday," _not the best way to start this,_ he realized belatedly, blinking as the smaller man just raised a pale brow at him. "He was assaulted, the guy got shot and killed, and then the guy who killed Ichigo's attacker was nearly tortured to death."

There was the slightest creaking noise as the floor boards shifted with the pale man's weight, and the lightest _swoosh_ of the two men breathing in the confined space of the apartment's entryway.

Shiro sat and slowly, unhurriedly took of his boots, shrugging out of his jacket at the same time whilst Renji watched his roommate's remaining confident shoulder tilt down in the same way as the other, he wondered as to whether or not he should have told the other after all. Then the lean white jackal stood and turned, his dark eyes sleepy, as if in a dreamy haze.

_Oh, I definitely shouldn't have told him. Shoulda let Ichigo deal with him._

As the other passed the crimson haired man, his gaze didn't stray from the target they had settled on; his otouto's bedroom. He knew better than anyone the nightmares that the other would experience with this new negative occurrence within his younger twin's life. What had the construction worker been thinking? This thing was gonna go all kindsa wrong, the albino going ape-shit, even knowing that the fucker was dead –

"Leave," was the short, soft command that left the white predator's mouth as he passed his friend, halting the red head's internal panicked tirade.

Didn't need to tell him twice.

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_Brat's probably asleep by now_, the detective mused whilst ticking off a mental list of where that godforsaken, irritatingly cheery pink haired doctor might have run off to, his steps nearly heavy with the drag of having to speak with the woman, and with her younger male counterpart. _Damn near midnight. _

"Better be asleep," he muttered, frowning at the parental thought. "Starrk lets Lillinette keep the kid up late again, I'ma kick his ass."

His mood had been much better before he'd spoken to the quiet and respectful Unohana-san about the whereabouts of her private practice' partner, as well as the patient whom the woman had treated with a similar… affliction to their body.

_"I'm afraid, Jaegerjaques-san," she murmured, the oddest sheen over her blue-black eyes. "That I've never treated a patient who had the kinds of injuries that Hitsuguya-san has."_

_ "I find that kinda hard ta believe, ma'am," the only woman who could _force_ civility on him was this calm, deadly woman; she had to take care of him when he got himself fucked up, and she could just as easily decide to screw him up longer, or make his stay as uncomfortable as possible. "Seeing as you've seen just about every kinda wound. Fact is, I'd just like ta talk ta whoever it is that got it." _

_She sighed, her unique style of braid shifting as she leaned forward at her desk, placing her forearms on the desktop, hands clasped together whilst staring directly into his slightly pinched cyan eyes._

_ It was a bit unnerving, the way she could just stare at you with deadly seriousness in the blink of an eye, none of that patent kindness or carefully constructed warmth in sight._

_ "I have never treated a patient with injuries such as Hitsuguya-san has, neither past injury, nor present at the time of my analyses. I'm sorry that I can't help you more."_

_ The look in those eyes told him that it would be best to back off and save it for later; he'd send in Starrk or Hitsuguya later, they knew how to deal with people better than he did. He was the one you called in for intimidation, not the subtleties of polite inquiry. His body was his foremost means of communication, not his words; he knew that, they knew that, everybody's mother and her _cat_ knew that._

_ "Well, thanks anyhow, ma'am," with that, he turned to exit the uncomfortably comfortable and frighteningly welcoming practice._

_ Silence stretched until just as he was about to close the door behind him, and she spoke, shuffling papers lightly on her desk as she did so._

_ "Jaegerjaques-san," she called softly, never raising her eyes from what she was doing. _

_ "Hai, ma'am?" felt like he was trying to pull his own teeth out every time he said that word._

_ "You might like to speak to Szayel-kun," the blunette's head snapped up from its slightly tilted position, his grimace of distaste smoothing into a frown as his brows did the same. _

_ Finally, she looked up, her midnight eyes deep and unreflective as she spoke._

_ "We don't always share patient information, and neither of us knows all those whom we have given treatment," her expression was welcoming and helpful, but he had the feeling that he should probably step carefully into this knew chance for information._

Times like these I need Hitsuguya and his giant brain_, he silently snarled, fueling his internal rage and unnease at the prospect of being without his partner for the first time in a little over a year. He'd never had one last this long, and he'd come to expect the quiet, intense silence beside him and the squabbling. _Why the hell does he have to be laid up _now_ of all times?

_He wanted to break something, namely Aizen and Ichimaru, but Starrk wanted evidence first. Couldn't go bustin heads without the proper papers._

_ Sometimes he hated his profession, it contradicted his nature._

_ "Ma'am," was his careful questioning. "Might ya know where the – um – Szayel is?"_

_ "With a friend right now, speaking to him about a family member that was a patient some time ago, I don't know the specifics. He'd be easiest to reach by phone, I think," she mused, eyes turning down towards her papers again._

_ "Domo," he managed, after he was sure that she wasn't going to speak anymore and departed from her oppressing presence._

_ Woman's scary as fuck_, he shuddered a bit as he thought of her, rolling his shoulders to play it off even thought there was no one to see him on the street near the two doctor's practice.

After wiping a hand over his face and setting his frown of distaste back into place, he pulled out his phone, noting idly that his brat had taken a picture of himself with it again, and changed the banner to _Grimmjow loves Pantera_. Quickly finding the irritating pink haired doctor's cell number in his Contacts, he hit the Send button, just wanting to get this over with so that he could pick up Pantera, go home, and dream of Strawberries.

The fact that his surprisingly enjoyable outing with the young art student had been interrupted – at a most inopportune moment – hadn't slipped his mind, but with that _look_ he hadn't been able to find it in himself to tear his friend a new one. That would have to wait until later. He'd learned quickly that the orangette was quick witted and had a disposition that could be considered antisocial, but beneath it he looked a bit uncomfortable with human interaction, as if he wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to act with someone he'd only met the day before, and under strenuous circumstances at that. Couldn't exactly blame him for that though, could he? His brat's presence had eased that tension, and the detective was sure that was because the young man had unconsciously been threatened by the older man, the presence of a child being enough for the fawn eyed man to relax, feeling that the other man wouldn't try anything whilst the child was present.

Like he'd ever tried to force himself on someone before; like he'd ever _had_ to.

"_Please enjoy the music while your party is being reached,_" the mechanical female voice was a pleasant monotone in lieu of the cheery male he'd been expecting

"Fuck that," he snarled, listening to a few moments of _classical_ – who chose classical music for their ringback tone? – before the other man picked up.

"O-haiyo, Grimm-chan," a cheery falsetto caused the blunette to grind his teeth. "Is there something you needed?"

"Ah, where are ya? We need ta talk."

"I assume that this is about Shiro-chan," _oh, Hitsuguya just _loathes_ it when Szayel calls him that._ "I've already told Starrk everything –"

"Shut up, Szayel," the detective snapped, totally not in the mood for his runaround. "Cut the crap. What do ya know?"

"Ah…" there was a momentary pause and the blunette could hear the shifting of material on the other end of the line. "Well, as I was saying, I told Starrk –"

"Listen, dumbass," he ignored the indignant huff from the doctor and continued. "Who else ya knows who's been hurt like Hitsuguya? And don't," he continued, satisfied with the clacking of teeth from the irritating little man. "Go tryin' ta bullshit me. I know ya, an' ya can't lie for shit."

The slightest whisper of an attractive, careful voice made its way over the line and the blunette blinked, halting in the middle of the street as he felt an itching sensation in his fingertips and bared his teeth silently for a moment in self challenge. Whoever's voice that was, made him want to sniff at the owner, in much the way he'd sniffed at his Berry earlier that day and received a flustered and flushed outburst that'd sent the last of the art student's ice cream cone flying, and his brat into a fit of giggles that'd only deepened the Berries blush in the most attractive manner. He's smelled like his name, but with a hint of oil paints and paper; it was… homey. There was an intrigue to this voice, though not the same kind as when he'd first heard the orangette's voice; part of him just wanted to know who could stand Szayel's company, and the rest was just the animal that wanted to know this newer pray, even if it was less tantalizing than the golden skinned young man he'd found an affection for.

"Szayel-san, would you mind taking Ulquirra-kun into the other room for a moment?"

Even he could tell that there was something off in the unknown man's soft query, and from the silence that reigned, so could the flamboyant doctor. _Who calls him _Szayel-san_? Guy needs no honorific, he's a fucking nuisance._

"Oi," Grimmjow was unaware that his voice had gotten lower, as if sensing the tension he wasn't physically part of. "What's goin' on?"

"Hush," the other breathed, obviously otherwise occupied.

Faintly, he heard a voice, one that couldn't possibly be who he thought it was. If the burning in his gut was anything to go by, it was exactly who he thought it was, confirmed by the slight strain in that intriguing voice and the odd hollowly polite tone.

"Hisagi-kun," the rat bastard greeted, voice calm and polite.

_Ya sick son-of-a-bitch, _he mentally snarled, unable to keep it within completely, finding himself running down the block towards the precinct, and taking out the emergency phone that few people had the number for and texting Starrk to get his ass over to the station.

They had _work_ to do.

Putting his end of the line on mute, admitting – grudgingly – that Szayel wasn't stupid enough as to hang up when someone like that was in his vicinity.

"Aizen-san," was that odd toned intonation that set off alarms in his head.

He couldn't hear anything else for a moment and took off the mute as he rounded a corner at a full sprint.

"Where the fuck are ya, Szayel?" he growled.

"The floor owned by Hisagi Shuuhei," _Why does that name sound familiar?_ He half wondered as the man breathed carefully, extremely aware of the other men within the flat. "It's the building that Pan-chan used to live in, top floor."

"What does some rich guy have to do with all of this?" the frown on his face was at the thought of anyone within that vicinity.

"He took in a child –" there was the muffled sound of someone being smacked. "Ah, gomen, Ul-chan. His _son_ was once held captive by Aizen, or so I believe."

_Ul-chan?_ He wondered as the lights of the night shift in the station came into view. _Ah, that must be the kid, the one that this Shuuhei guy sent into the other room with Szayel. Ulquirra._

"When? The kid okay?" his own words startled as he spoke; he hadn't even thought about that, at least, not consciously.

"Oh, a while ago, near a year now. Ah," there was a pause that the blunette assumed the child was communicating with the man during. "14 months, according to Ul-chan. Oh, another day until the 15 month anniversary, I should get them something."

"Szayel," he growled as he came to the doors and moved to yank them open, seeing in the corner of his eye his superior pulling up to the curb to park, the kids jumping out with the older man moving to assist the white hared prodigy from the passenger seat…

_He's gonna have a hell of a time getting up in the morning_, he mused with an internal resigned sigh, thinking of his small charge.

As he entered the front room, breath puffing lightly with exertion, he headed straight for the sound room to see if they – the techs – could set it up so that both Starrk and he could speak with the doctor. He knew that the lazy eyed man was close behind him, and that the entirety of the precinct officers had no idea what it was that was going on, only that it was an emergency. They parted like the Red Sea as he kept his fast pace, single-mindedly ignoring the confusion around him in favor of getting as much info as he could out of the doctor whilst he was still whole and unspoiled. With a kid thrown into the mix, things were gonna get trickier, but he was sure that Starrk and Hitsuguya would think of something. Either those two, or one of the other taicho's from trustworthy precinct within the area, ones that Starrk knew well.

Entering the room full of incomprehensible gadgets, the blunette heard his childhood friend murmur something to the two kids that sent them scurrying off to his office, then entering the room and closing the door behind him.

"What we got?" one of the techs, Akon, approached and asked immediately, his assistant, Ren, hot on his heels.

"I need this phone hooked up ta something so that we can all hear an' speak ta him," he barked, thrusting the device out towards the skilled technician. "Do it quick. Szayel's in a potential hostage situation."

"Wakatta. Ren," the smaller, rather girlish youth hurriedly handed the down-to-business Akon some cords and he immediately hooked them into the phone before hooking them into the recorder and speakers, as well as setting up a small microphone at the same time.

There were reasons that the rather plain man was in charge of the electronics division, and amazing focus and multitasking was part a of it.

"Szayel?" Starrk queried, taking one of the seats by the table with the setup on it, the blunette's pale partner the other.

"Hai, Starrk?" the prim man's voice was slightly tensed, and quiet.

"You have any idea what's going on at the moment?"

"Sort of," there was a sound that reminded the blunette of pressurized air being released them everything was muffled, when he next spoke, the doctors voice had a tinny echo to it. "Aizen showed up when I was about to ask Shuu-chan –" Starrk glanced at Grimmjow, brow raised in question.

"Hisagi Shuuhei," he answered softly, listening to the doctor's voice and not noticing the blanching of his friend at the name.

"– exactly what he knew about the men Aizen, Ichimaru, and Tōsen Kaname," the name caused a faint frown to form on the volatile detective's face and a grimace of distaste on the handsome taicho's as well.

The blunette was wondering where he'd heard that name before, but decided to ask Starrk later, as he obviously knew who this Tōsen was.

"So Shuu-chan made me take Ul-chan –" again, the gray eyed man flicked a glance at his subordinate.

"His kid. Spent some time with Aizen," the other provided absently, noting the way his young partner swallowed that information scowling at the green tinge to his bruised features; he obviously felt something at this statement, and it wasn't positive.

"– to the other room, and as of now, we are hiding in the hidden safe room in the back of Shuu-chan's cloth room."

A moment's silence.

"Safe room?" Hitsuguya queried, voicing the speculations of those within the room. "Why does he have a safe room?"

"Because of his father, of course," the exasperation that the pink haired man showed at their ignorance made Grimmjow grind his teeth.

Until they heard the telltale sign of violence; flesh meeting flesh and a body hitting the floor.

MEMEMEME

Hope you liked it! Because that's all for this chappy! I'm sorry to say that I don't like people telling me how to write when I could just as soon stop. ^_^


	7. Mmm Crepes

Hmm. Not so sure about this chapter… Oh, and due to some comments – and the fact that I don't really _mind_ changing this – I have conformed, and changed my original spelling of Ulquirra to Ulquiorra, and when I feel like taking the time, I'll go throughout the story and change the other chapters, but for now, this is what you get. :)

01010101

"Szayel?" Starrk snapped, brows furrowing, sitting foreword, hands on the arms of his chair as if he'd jump to save him.

"That's not me," was the soft, quiet, serious breath, something that was very uncharacteristic of the doctor. "Ul-chan... what is this?"

There was silence as the child – whom the taicho had heard was a mute by choice, from his adoptive grandfather – communicated voicelessly with the doctor who most likely knew the sign language that the boy was acquainted with due to his occupation and the need to understand all of his patients. Even if the pink haired man was an irritant, he took his job seriously, and didn't want to have need of an interpreter at all times, and knew many languages as well; what ones he didn't yet know, his elder business partner did.

"Szayel?"

Clearing his throat for a moment, the man continued, voice subdued, telling all those within the room clearly just how he felt about the situation, and those involved. Obviously, he cared about Shuuhei in more than a doctor patient way. Szayel only ever got worked up over his friends, and those that worked with him, and were well acquainted with him knew this.

"Apparently, Shuu-chan has put in a communication system that connects to each room, and this one's been muted. Ul-chan wanted it because he liked to hear Shuu-chan wherever he was in the house, even if he couldn't talk back because Shuu-chan is uncomfortable with cameras," even as he spoke, the men within the electronics room could hear a low grunt of pain and muffled voices.

"Szayel, put your phone as close to the speaker as possible, and turn it up," he commanded, turning to share a look with both of his fukutaichos, both startling pairs were focused, if the crystalline pair that he found an affection for more tired than he'd have liked. This wasn't going to play out well.

"– Maybe I should have brought someone with whom you are more familiar," Aizen's smooth, cultured voice mused, as if he were talking about the weather, even as there was a harsh snapping sound and a choked cry that cut off as the designer gasped and bit it back. "I could have brought Jin, he seems to enjoy playing with those such as yourself, although he is a bit preoccupied with the young officer from 1st division at the moment. He _does_ like them young… ah, yes, where is our dear Ulquiorra, by the way?"

A harsh grunt that definitely didn't come from the polite Hisagi Shuuhei could be heard, and the silence was tense for a moment, only the sound of harsh breathing before a shallow thud and the dull, hollow sound of someone being struck over the skull. Most likely the quiet, shy designer himself.

"No, Jin isn't cooperative enough, nor patient enough. Hmm… your former guardian, perhaps?" whilst there was no malice in the words, from the snarl that Grimmjow released, and the narrowing of the prodigy's bright eyes, they also heard the low pleasure in that tone, knew the oily feel of it, that of which was causing Starrk's stomach to tighten and hands to ache with the physical need for baser violence.

Shuuhei's harsh breathing stopped short, before starting after a few moments, a soft sigh starting the process again.

"Aizen-san," the taicho could hear the younger man murmur softly, ever-so polite, even under the circumstances. "Is there something you needed in particular from your visit?"

"Ah, yes," the 5th precinct taicho sounded surprised, as if just having remembered something, a revelation of some sort. "Would you mind taking a stroll with me, Hisagi-kun?"

KIKIKIKI

There was someone holding his hand.

Eyes shooting awake, breath shuddering from his chest, the young art student jerked from his tense, forgotten slumber at the dry feel of another person's hand clasping his own loosely, the angle odd enough to seem extremely deliberate. His heart was pounding harshly in his chest, causing a piercing ache throughout his ribcage that set his breathing to a choppy jerk, his throat tight with the abandoned horrors from the middle of his harsh night's sleep. The backs of his eyes burned and throbbed as his vision adjust to the darkness that surrounded him, adding to his anxiety layer by thrumming layer. He could almost feel his very veins vibrating.

"Ichigo," he heard the rough, coarse voice of his twin grumble in the darkness, his harsh respiration calming unconsciously at the familiarity of the other, even in the dark. "Go back to sleep. I ain't goin' nowhere."

"What…?" was his returned sleepy murmur as he rolled over to position his hand more comfortably in his slightly elder womb brother's thinner one. "Why're you…?"

"The Baka Aka called me up," the white jackal admitted after a moment and the orangette could hear and feel his body shift from his position seated beside the younger Kurosaki's bed. "Thought you might need me."

"Nn," the art student breathed, tense body finally relaxing as he returned to the world of dreams, too caught up in his exhaustion to really notice the hard bite in his predatory brother's voice.

The next time he woke, it was to the smell of hunger.

Trailing out of his bed in a daze, absently dragging his blanket behind him for a couple of feet before dropping it just outside of his bedroom doorway, a habit that'd been with him since childhood, he padded into his kitchenette, idly scratching across his gracefully defined, golden chest and yawing hard enough to cause his jaw to pop, wincing absently as he did so. The slight chill to the morning air pebbled his skin and pulled at his lids, making him blink several times so that he could get used to the idea of freezing off his corneas and squinting in the pale light, glancing at his clock finding that it was nearly 8 o'clock in the morning. The bottoms of his feet weren't as cold as they would have been if he'd not had small, cheap carpets strategically placed around his small apartment, but the chill still set the skin around his ankles, muscles tensing, and he gave a slow full body shiver.

It wasn't quite cold enough for him to see the steam of his breath, but he could definitely _feel _the difference in temperature as his breath passed over his face while he moved to take a seat across from his pale twin as he served out what definitely didn't look like something that Ichigo would have the ingredients for within his tiny, poorly stocked kitchenette.

"Shiro…" he frowned, brow furrowing in irritation as he regarded the mouth watering crêpe before him, the powdered sugar enticing him to try it, to see if that was _really_ homemade raspberry jam within the thin, folded French pancake; knowing the other, it likely was, as he and Yuzu had inherited that certain food obsession - and talent - that their mother had had.

"Just eat," the other snapped, odd, two toned eyes narrowed in an expression of irritation that the two of them shared, though his sharper and more pronounced. "Take it as a 'Shut the fuck up and don't whine' present."

Dawning comprehension played over the art student's face as he reached for his fork – one that he didn't _remember_ ever having. Why would he have one when the only things he ever ate required chopsticks? – and he paused, glancing up at his twin to regard him with a look of horrified disbelief.

"You don't mean…" he trailed off at the suddenly smug expression on his colorless counterpart, the other leaning back against the small counter and patting his pocket lightly, as if he wanted to light up, only he'd quit some time before, for a reason that the Berry was unaware of, and most likely would have had trouble believing had he known.

"Oh, I do mean," the groan that the orangette released at this was taken with a mocking sneer.

_Why? _He internally mourned, glumly eating the delicious concoction, knowing that he wouldn't be able to stay angry at the albino for long when he was eating something so tasty. _Why must I _always_ get stuck with this bastard?_

Being near polar opposites in many matters – such as morals and self-restraint – they didn't tend to hang out together all that much. If you didn't know them well, and didn't know what the two eldest Kurosaki children had gone through together, you wouldn't understand that they were quite close. If one of them needed something, the other would come no matter what else they were doing, dropping it in an instant, and going to assist the other in any way necessary.

"You get to spend the day with yours truly," was the dark, gleeful gloating of the white jackal, his eyes narrowed for better to see the weak grimace on his color counterpart's half-asleep, shadowy features.

"I fucking hate you," grumbled the Berry.

This actually translated to _Thanks._

"Aw, I love you too," to _Anytime, little brother._

Spending a day with Shiro was like spending a day in the twilight zone.

The albino had called in to work – whatever the hell he did for a living, he apparently had full control over his hours – and told them that they'd survive a day without him, and then proceeded to drag the 4 minutes younger man around town, making scathing, sarcastic comments that would cause the orangette to laugh at the ridiculously believable scenarios that the pale predator would come up with about random people on the street; he couldn't say he didn't enjoy his twin's rapier wit.

Apparently, a very masculine man who was reading the paper in front of a café was into the dominatrix scene, and was wearing a man-thong beneath his expensive slacks, the reason he kept on crossing and uncrossing his legs. A woman with a rack almost on par with Inoue's and some of the longest eyelashes he'd ever scene, wearing a short plaid skirt and obviously into the punk scene with her wristbands and skillfully applied dark eyeliner, was a transsexual with a fetish for raspberry jam and lemon scented lube.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know how his twin's mind worked, or think about the fact that he half believed him.

The day was as hot as it was two days before, and the golden skinned art student didn't envy his twin's pale complexion, as it forced him to wear a long sleeved shirt and jeans, as well as a beanie with a visor and a pair of sunglasses. His alabaster skin glowing from a light sheen of sweat and flushed slight pink beneath the clothes, narrow, light pink tongue snaking out every once in a while to wet chapped lips, only making the dilemma worse until the younger male had forced his Chapstick upon the other. There was only so many times he could glance over at a face so similar to his own and stand seeing blood being licked off of dry, cracked lips, whilst holding a feral grin upon said features.

It was rather disconcerting.

And now, as the only light sources in the town were the street lamps and the store lights, Ichigo was starting to feel the tiredness he knew came from outings with his twin, who was always full of nervous energy that he needed to burn, and dragged the younger along with him to do just that. It was with relief that he found himself being pulled into _Ôken _and pushed towards the bar, noting absently that the dark, attractive woman he usually was graced with was nowhere to be seen. His mind felt oddly weary without the comforting, virile presence of his ivory skinned twin, and his thoughts meandering in a silent query, one that he knew was going to get him into trouble at some point; honestly, he knew better.

"Yoruichi-san's not working tonight?" the orangette queried as he came up to the man who was in charge of the bar that night, not bothering to watch his twin melt into the crowd; he'd never find him in the familiar din, especially since the other most likely didn't _want_ to be found at the moment.

He knew that his twin loved him, and was pretty protective – he was the same way in regards to his elder counterpart – but he also wasn't temperamentally suited to hang out around one person for too long; he got snappy, and Ichigo wouldn't just _take _it. Most of the time they were lucky if they didn't get into a full out brawl when they pissed each other off, and neither of them liked to ruin their time together with such things.

That was only for family get-togethers.

"Nah," the optimistic man's voice was smooth, pleasant and his congenial smile in place as he answered the art student's question. "She and Urahara-san went to hang out."

"Ah, soka," the furrow of Ichigo's brow deepened, and the handsome, surprisingly similar barman's smile slipped slightly. "They don't go out much anymore."

"Mm," gray-green eyes regarded the young man with concern; he liked the boy, and knowing his personality as he did – they were alike in more than looks – he knew that the boy's displays of emotion were unconscious. "Everything alright, Ichigo?"

Blinking in surprise, the chocolate eyed young man realized that he was hunched over the bar slightly, and had been staring hard at the grains of the bar, his slim fingers clenching and unclenching with his internal struggle. _Yabai, _he thought, sighing and sitting up straight, roughly shoving away his melancholy at the thoughts that had niggled their way up from the recess of his mind. _I can't just let my emotions run away with me. I'm not _that_ much of a pansy._

"Gomen, Kaien," tone wry, he looked at the older man anew, with the air he usually had about him; one of brash, reluctant confidence, and ease. "I was being stupid."

_The man has work, _he chastised himself as he glanced around in spite of himself, searching out a stunning set of cyan eyes and startling blue hair, thoughts suddenly wrenched to the blunette with nice arms and a wicked grin. It wasn't like him to think of someone he'd just met, so often, especially when he was hanging out with his twin. _This isn't some storybook romance. Get a hold of yourself Ichigo._

"Īe , don't worry about it," smile back in place, the darker man moved towards the other end of the bar as he was called with a raised hand to get his attention. "Try not to get too down," he called lightly before fully diverting his attention to the man at the other end of the bar. "I'll be back with your drink in a moment."

"Sankyou!" was his return, voice raised to be heard over the bass filled music that caused his skin to thrum, his heart almost beating like a drum to match the rhythm.

Feeling a small smile work over his features as he saw familiar faces in the crowd, some waving and nodding, others leering in the way that those he'd turned down did – in good fun, and without spite – he found himself relaxing, sighing with contentment as he saw a flash of startling white amongst the crowd. Shiro was letting him know he was still there.

_Well, _he thought as his friendly barman set down his 'girlly drink' in the words of his twin, taking a sip of his Pink Lady - having long gotten over the embarrassment of drinking such a thing in public - and enjoyed the company and conversation that Kaien brought with him everywhere he went. _It's good to be home._

69696969

He felt like he was being pressed in on all sides, his body compressed beyond his limits, he could almost hear his joints creaking from the pressure, his lungs laboring silently within his tight chest. Panic bubbled beneath the surface and he could barely rein it in to keep his breaths calm and steady, simulating unconsciousness for his very sanity. The hand that was smoothing over the back of his head had the slightest jerk that spoke of almost-withdrawal, and was oh-so familiar. Even as he felt the ache above his ear start to sharpen, his side to burn and pinch more ferociously, he knew that it was all he could do for survival to stay still and quiet. He felt he couldn't stand this, but knew he had to. If he didn't, then he didn't know _what_ would happen to his Ulquiorra-kun, all he knew was that he couldn't let Tōsen-san or anyone else involved near the hollow-eyed, sensitive child. Even if he himself was rather weak in regards to will, he had enough of his foster father in him to be able to hold out for the sake of his son, the sake of seeing those dull green eyes brighten, and those thin lips curve. If he managed to survive, that is.

He _had _to withstand it.

_Once Aizen had closed the door gently behind him, his three, unfamiliar, nondescript henchmen were spreading out in the spacious living room of his flat, covering the designer from all sides, making it _very _clear that there was no escape from whatever it was to come._

_ "Ah, Hisagi-kun," was the polite murmur. "I was wondering if you might be able to help me with something."_

_ "Of course if I may be of some help to you," he was surprised with how calm and steady his voice was, how polite and… plain, it was. "I will do what I can to be of assistance."_

_ "Hmm, I wonder about that," those calm, dark, unreflective brown eyes were locked on the lean, attractive designer, analyzing the way his shoulders hunched over slightly, and the downward cast to his soft, coal-gray eyes."I do wonder."_

_ There was an uncomfortable charge to the air, one that tensed the scarred man's frame even more, causing an ache to develop in the tightly strung muscles. The three that had surrounded him all looked like hired muscle, someone who came in to escort an important person of the less than legal persuasion, or beat information out of someone that was much needed._

_ There was little doubt in Hisagi's mind that these men were both, though he doubted that Aizen would actually _need_ there protection, as the man was deadly in and of himself._

_ Even as the 5__th__ precinct taicho smoothly traversed the designer's home, his drilling gaze never left the weary man, taking in any and every reaction the other had had, conscious or not; everything that he didn't say with words, his body would say for him._

_ "I was so sure that Szayel-kun would be here," the dangerous man mused, a little disappointed and pleased that the man didn't crumble at the first sign of antagonism. It'd be no fun if he gave in too easily. "Pity."_

_ "I could call and invite him over, if you'd like, Aizen-san," he offered, wondering where his ability to be verbally blasé about this whole thing was coming from. "I'm not much for stimulating conversation."_

_ The three nondescript men shifted around him, tightening their ranks around him, causing the quiet designer's heart to palpitate in his chest, nerves almost breaking his polite façade sending him into a fit to try and escape from the predicament he found himself in. _This man is the one who makes Ulquiorra-kun flinch when Kensei-san and Kaien-kun are around, _within the recess of his tensed mind he thought darkly, the swirling ball of hate that had been culminating, growing and compressing deep within him since he'd come to truly care for the boy pulsed in his veins, humming in his ears. _He is the reason that I've never heard my son's voice.

The reason he's afraid to _make _noise.

_"Īe , that won't be necessary, Hisagi-kun," those dangerously calm eyes narrowed briefly as his subordinates continued to tighten their circle around the younger man. "Speaking with you will be just fine."_

_ Swallowing softly, disliking the sudden dryness of his throat and mouth, the lean designer shivered slightly when he noted that the three men were only a foot or two away. This was going to get ugly, very soon, and he wasn't the best with violence; he hated it._

_ "Would you like some tea, Aizen-san?" he sounded a bit strangled, even to his own ears, as one of the men took a harsh grip on his shoulder._

_ "No, thank you, Hisagi-kun."_

_ Heart almost choking him, the designer watched the 5__th__ precinct taicho approach one of the paintings on the wall, studying it with a slightly interested gaze, reaching out to run his fingers over the glass in the corner with the artist's name. He didn't want him to touch it, it had been a _gift, _a gift from one of the women that he worked with on occasion. She was friendly and attractive, even if she invited him to go drinking with her all the time; he abhorred alcohol and any other narcotic._

_ Matsumoto Rangiku._

_ "Hmm, she is a most talented artist isn't she," the friendly, conversational tone made the edges of the designers lips tighten. "If a bit too flamboyant for my every day tastes."_

_ "I enjoy her work," he managed._

_ "Well, we all have our quirks," turning those dark chocolate, nonreflective eyes towards the tattooed man, Hisagi felt like he'd had the breath torn from his lungs. "Now, I've a few questions I would like to ask you, Hisagi-kun."_

_ "H-hai?" he couldn't keep the slight grimace of distaste at his very apparent nerves from his features, but he managed to wipe the expression away, even as his remaining free shoulder was gripped bruisingly by another of the sly man's lackeys. _

_ "Have you spoken with Muguruma-san lately?" the question itself seemed innocent enough, the inquiry polite and unassuming._

_ All that the coal eyed man heard was a threat towards his foster father._

_ "Īe ," he was surprised at the calmness of his voice, the finality in it; who knew he had a backbone?_

_ Those eyes bore into him, and after a tense, painful moment in which the designer was sure he could literally _feel_ his blood pumping through his veins, and the oxygen being sifted in his lungs, before the dangerous, cunning man released a sad, mildly disappointed sigh, even as an amused, pleased light formed inside those lifeless orbs._

_ The three forms surrounding him shifted, as if readying themselves, and the lean, weary man gave himself a moment with his eyes closed, preparing for what he knew wouldn't be the most pleasant experience of his life._

_ "You seem tense, Hisagi-kun," was the soft, regrettable murmur that opened those coal grey eyes, the bottomless enjoyment in direct orbs not-at-all hidden behind the lenses of glasses causing the pit of his stomach to tighten, and momentary flash of Ulquiorra's to spin through his mind._

_ Pain exploded in the middle of his back and he inhaled sharply, just before having the wind knocked out of him on impact with the floor, the sound seeming to reverberate throughout the spacious flat; he had a moment of clarity, a moment to hope that Ulquiorra hadn't heard that, that Szayel would keep him from trying to do anything brave. His torso on fire with the need to breath even as he struggled to right himself again, hating the idea of being so far below the four people who'd invaded his home and could possibly ruin his and the lives of those he cared about the most. For a moment he was blearily thankful that his adoptive son had wanted hardwood flooring through the majority of their home, as the blood from the lip he'd split on impact with the floor would have stained horribly, and that would have bothered both he and his mildly OCD child._

_ "I understand that we aren't the most well acquainted of individuals, but I'd hope our similar connections would give us a bit more… leeway, in our conversation," still he sounded like he was talking about rather unwarranted weather that'd put a damper on his plans._

_ Struggling sit back on his knees, he narrowed his eyes a bit as he concentrated on calming his breathing, giving Aizen the eye contact he apparently wanted, only to have to catch himself on his left forearm and right hand when he was kicked in the side, the momentous force behind it nearly sending him sprawling again. Giving a low grunt, he managed to ignore the slicing pain in his lower ribs on the right side of his torso as he sat up once again, sitting politely on his knees, feet folding beneath his backside, body tense and attentive. It was hard for him to ignore the fiery pain in his back, and the piercing, pinching pain of his ribs, but putting into practice techniques that he'd not had the need for since starting to live with his foster family – his _real _family – he suppressed the feelings, thinking of the wide, troubled emerald gaze of his child, and the furrowed, worried and serious brows of the doctor in the other room._

_ If he wasn't careful and respectful, they would be in trouble._

_ "All things considered, with your history and such, maybe I should have brought someone with whom you are more familiar,"_ _the man tilted his head to the side, apparently a signal to one of the three the flagged the lean designer. One of them yanked back on the man's left arm, which before had been demurely folded against the opposing on in his lap, whilst bracing a hand against his upper back, and not stopping his momentum._ _There was a snapping, wet pop and then sharp, liquid fire that shot through his torso and sent his muscled spasming without thought, and forced a chocked, hoarse cry from his throat that he barely managed to swallow, gasping and eyes wide. _

"_I could have brought Jin," he continued, as if the slim, attractive man before him hadn't just had his shoulder dislocated. "He seems to like playing with those such as yourself, although he is a bit preoccupied with that young officer from 1__st__ division at the moment. He _does_ like them young… a yes, where is our dear Ulquiorra, by the way?"_

_Instinct had the normally docile man rearing back and spinning enough to send his unwounded arm flying around to slam into the nearest of his assailants stomach, which – while muscular – gave easily under the base assault of fury at the thought of the man whom he'd come to know well in his childhood besides Tōsen-san anywhere near Ulquiorra-kun. The now doubled over man gave a harsh grunt, nondescript face scrunched at the sudden, unexpected pain, both his and the designer's breath panting and wild in the moment's span afterword, before the man that stood on the opposing side slammed Hisagi over the skull, causing darkness to roar over his eyes for a moment, before harsh, bright red, and he found himself once again laying on the floor, this time curled up with his hand covering the area just above his ear, and just below his temple but not quite on his cheekbone. There was a numb feeling there, and he knew, that if he pressed on it, there would be a deep ache signaling that this was more than just a simple nock on the head._

_"No, Jin isn't cooperative enough, nor patient enough. Hmm… your former guardian, perhaps?"_ _the sound of Ulquirra-kun's nightmare tormentor's voice was tinny and flat in his ears, folding and dipping to his injured perception, but he could imagine the smooth pleasure just below the surface, even as he closed his eyes, trying to block out the world and the too-real images of Tōsen-san that his pulsing mind could draw forth._

_He didn't want this, he didn't want to be anywhere near any of this, but… taking a deep breath, he released a soft sigh._

There's nothing I can do in such a situation, _he thought, knowing it was foolish to wish that his father or brother would burst through his door at any moment, but unable to stop from hoping._

_"Aizen-san,"_ _he managed, wondering what his voice sounded like to others, even as if slid in and out of his ears, distorted and wrong; a stranger's voice._ _"Is there something you needed in particular from your visit?"_

_"Ah, yes,"_ _still he wondered just what he was missing in the others voice as the two of the three lifted him from the floor, tucking their arms into the crooks of his elbows, as if in preparation to drag him. "Would you mind taking a stroll with me, Hisagi-kun?"_

The stroking continued over his skull and down onto his bruised and sore back, and he had to keep reminding himself to keep his breathes slow and shallow, never too long, never to short, never to deep. Even as he felt another hand, as jerky and awkward as the other, sliding beneath the hem of his shirt to stroke over his thin, defined stomach, he had to remember. He had to...

He had to keep breathing.

KIKIKIKI

On the way to the bathroom whilst rolling his eyes – honestly, Shinji could be plain dumbass sometimes – and with a smile on his face – Kaien knew how to keep your spirits high, that was for sure – he caught sight of something pale out of the corner of his eye. Thinking it was his twin, he turned, only to be surprised at the wide, slightly creepy grin and narrow eyes that greeted him on the stranger's pale features, silver hair falling into his narrow face, and his thin, half-starved physique leaning towards the young art student with something akin to interest. There was an odd tingling at the base of his skull, but the orangette ignored it; the guy didn't seem threatening, just creepy.

Until he opened his mouth.

"Kurosaki Ichigo, neh?" those narrow eyes opened slightly to reveal white-blue irises, and Ichigo found his fawn colored eyes widening and his mouth opening to question how the opposing man knew him, when he felt someone pull a cloth over his mouth, and an acrid, sweet-sour smell filled his being, choking him and sending tingling alarm throughout his body.

Oh, this wasn't going to be good.

MEMEMEME

So, this chapter was dumb-tardedly hard, and I haven't the slightest idea why. So, if you notice any inconsistencies, just tell me, and I'll go through and fix them. Enjoy... maybe.


	8. Wanted

**REVIEW! **De wa…

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_"Grimm-chan? Where are you going?" the sleepy, soft voice of one of the child who'd whipped him thoroughly made him turn back from the door leading out of Starrk's office so as to give the boy a better explanation. "Are we going home?"_

_ Home, now there was a nice thought._

_ "Ah, Īe," placing one knee against the floor and pulling the blanket back up over the small boy, who happened to be curled up with Lillinette – who was out like a light – on the couch in the taicho's office, his cat eyes sleepy and soft as he rubbed at them and reached out to the blunette without thought, the other accepting this action without thought as well. "Gotta go play hero."_

_ "Hmm? Honto?" the sleepy child nuzzled his face against the strong line of Grimmjow's shoulder and gave a small yawn, eyes drooping as the man started to run a hand over his back in an instinctive, comforting, calming motion. "For who?"_

_ From his awkward position with half a child in his arms and making sure that the other half stayed beneath the cover of the baby blue blanket with tassel-ties at the edge, connecting the lighter blue with a deep midnight blue he was relieved to find that the door was firmly shut; he didn't want people to see him like this. He remembered Lillinette and the brat had made this blanket together with material provided by someone that Muguruma-taicho knew who hadn't really needed it, and apparently the man had asked, since he'd seen the little girl curled up asleep on the couch under a ratty blanket on more than one occasion. But instead of just a random thing of material, they'd gotten a box that had two extremely soft swaths of cloth, both white, an assortment of dies, and instructions on how to use them. The kids'd had a blast, dying several things bawdy colors and ruining several pairs of clothes for everything but playing in. Included in those directions was the hint that they could make those two things of cloth one blanket, and – this showed delicate implications of having a hand with children – simple, drawn out instruction on what to do with the cloth to make it so._

_ The entire thing had been written in precise, careful handwriting, and the swishes of it spoke that this person was used to writing in cursive, but kept in mind the fact that this was for kids._

_ He'd always meant to get a hold of whomever it had been that'd sent it and thank them, quite certain that it was a woman who had at least a passel of kids and was passed retirement, but had never gotten around to it._

_ "Just some people who got involved in stuff they shouldna," he couldn't tell him that it was Szayel and a kid that he was going to pick up, or that the kids dad had been abducted by the man that'd hurt his Shiro-nii-chan; it'd break his fragile little heart. "Be back later. Go ta sleep brat."_

_ "M'kay," was the soft murmur. "Love you, Grimm-chan."_

_ He had to clear his throat at the sudden tightness, and the ridiculous grin on his face before he could return the sentiment._

_ "You too, brat."_

Starrk was literally going to kill him.

He could almost see his life flash before his eyes as the man swerved around a corner sharply, causing the detective to curse as his head banged into the window in the passenger's seat. The sirens were blaring, lights dazzling the passerby, and the fukutaicho could almost hear the other man grinding his teeth in frustration at the crowd of cars, and life in general; you'd think it was Lillinette in trouble with the dark, narrow look in his eyes.

"What the fuck, Starrk? S'not like they aren't going to be there when we get there, well, maybe not this Hisagi or Aizen, but Szayel and the kid'll be there," he growled, rubbing at the bump on his skull.

The handsome brunette's lips tightened for a moment.

"He's Kensei's son."

Silence.

"Wait, what?"

Oh, this was so, so bad.

"I thought that Kaien was –"

"Oh, he is too, no doubt about it, but there are _two_ of them," the wheels squealed across the asphalt and Grimmjow could see the building that filled him with ire through the windshield. "And, you know how Kensei is particular about when things happen to Kaien?"

"Yeah…" this wasn't sounding like he was going to enjoy it.

"Well, imagine that times 63."

_Well, then… _his mind was blank, and he prayed that the 9th precinct taicho wouldn't rip his face off in front of Pantera.

"We're screwed, aren't we?" he managed through the awkward resigned grimace on his face.

"Pretty much," a moment before they screeched to a halt in front of the building, and the two sat back for just a moment.

"_Fuck_," the blunette drawled before getting out of the car, his head pulsing as he got his equilibrium back, barely noting the patrol cars that pulled up behind him, but definitely noting the lack of an icy presence at his elbow and trying to ignore it.

They quickly made their way into the building and flashed their badges at the security in front, only to get an odd look from one of the younger guys.

"Weren't you guys here once already?"

_Aizen used his – _

"No, you must be wrong about that," Starrk murmured politely, in a _Gosh, what an honest mistake _kind of way, instant, believable reaction.

But the kid wasn't buying it; he just frowned as he regarded the tall, lean brunette with fire behind his eyes.

"I just saw an officer from leave here a couple a minutes ago, don't pull that crap!" he was surprisingly succinct, and Grimmjow took notice of the tattoo off his eyebrow, branching out oddly. "He had glasses and– "

"Come here for a sec," pulling the kid off to the side and effectively shutting him up, the taicho threw a look at his fukutaicho who immediately understood what was being asked of him. "Grimmjow."

"Wakatta, wakatta," he brushed passed the rest of the tiny security detail and pushed the elevator button, glad that he remembered which one had the little keypad for security measures, and he pressed in the code that would take him directly to the floor he wanted without stopping.

_"…Grimm-chan… I think… I'm going away…" voice feeble, weak and oh-so sadly resigned coming through his cell phone._

With a snarl he shoved back his last memory of this place, this exact elevator, impatiently waiting to reach the topmost floor and get to this child whom he was worried about, and to knock some sense into that irritating pink haired doctor who grated on his nerves regularly, calling out "Grimm-chan~!" in the most annoying falsetto he'd ever had the displeasure to hear. Sadly, there were quite a few of those high male voices he'd come across, in this line of work as well as past. He didn't know who this kid was, only knew that he hadn't said a word throughout the whole deal, and he was sure that the tech guys knew more, as they were still on the line with Szayel, supposedly.

The last thing that he'd heard coming through that speaker was a sickening crack and a wheezed grunt, before he and Starrk had been on the move, the taicho firing off orders faster than some of the officers had ever heard.

"Go faster, damnit," he snarled, before grimacing at the numbers.

_Why the hell to rich people always live so freakin' high up?_

04040404

He couldn't make himself stand up, even if he hadn't felt heavy and laden, like he was covered in sopping wet clothing, he wouldn't have wanted to get up; there was no reason to.

Aizen-sama had taken everything away from him, all that mattered.

Shortly after his Hisagi-san had been knocked unconscious and taken away, it'd started.

The shattering.

From their proximity to the microphone in the resting area, Ulquiorra could identify each item as it was destroyed, along with his home, and his heart. The tiny tea set that he and Yumichika-san had painstakingly made together for the coal eyed designer's birthday, a little asymmetrical in places, but the green eyed boy knew that the other had appreciated and loved it by the warm smile and moist eyes; he also cooked all his favorite foods for a week and a half. Gone. The sculpture that had been given to the designer some years ago of a fawn, one that always sat on the side table to the couch. Gone. The stained glass that Kaien-nii-san had made with him – well, made with the boy's instructions as he watched – for the anniversary of when they had become a family; he could still feel the warmth of his chosen Otou-san's hand in his, feel the dry rasp of his thumb smoothing over his knuckles. Gone. A plastic clatter as the glass top of the table on which the microphone sat was shattered, causing the child to flinch and bite the inside of his lip until he started to taste the first tangs of blood. The hollow, soft implosion of the beautifully constructed paper mache that his strange Mashiro-san had created in a fit of rage at Kensei-san, for some reason none of them could figure, and the first thing that told the boy of where his father had gotten the inspiration to lose himself in art.

They'd entered the room in which theirs was hidden, and the shattering had turned to tearing, causing a throbbing stab in his chest, his eyes to burn, and his small white teeth to bite straight through his lip, though he took little notice of it, only squeezed his eyes closed tighter against the horrors that surrounded this day.

Everything was… breaking.

So he sat, well after the destruction had stopped, in the little, comfortable room hidden in the back of the Creation Room, the room he loved the most, and kept his fingers tangled slightly in his soft dark hair, covering his ears viciously and mentally cursing his keen hearing. His body curled even tighter in on himself when he sensed Szayel reaching to touch him, having been aware that he'd been whispering soothing – or what was trying to be soothing, but was rather shaky from his own emotions – words to him throughout the entirety of the massacre. Everything ached, and he didn't show any notion of caring as the blood from his savagely bitten lips spilled from his lips, unseen by the doctor beside him, as his face was buried in his knobby little-boy knees, in the clothes that had been made for him – for _him, _from _HIM_ – he felt small and broken and tight.

He wished that he didn't care.

Heartbeat dull and hard against his chest, causing his chest to tighten frantically, his soft, soundless breaths to speed up in frequency and lessen in depth.

He wanted his Hisagi-san, who always knew what to say and what to do to make it better; he didn't want to wake up, he wanted to stay asleep, in a world where he could ask for things and not get reprimanded.

He wanted to stay in the dream.

That reaching hand pulled away and he didn't change positions, even as he heard someone entering his broken home once again. The voice was gruff and vaguely familiar, one that he drearily connected to the eccentric doctor's phone call with the police, meaning that this was one of the good guys, only this voice was a little scary, a little too mean, and he couldn't help tightening further into a ball, his thin back leaning against the smooth, cool wall as he unbalanced with too much tension in his slim frame. He wanted to disappear, he wanted never to have put something like this upon his Hisagi-san, he wanted to rewind the day and go back to eating Tamagoyaki with his father and the sharing of ideas for what they would do once Kaien-nii-san came over the next day, he wanted his Otou-san to comment on his drawing again, point out places for improvement, and then hang them up on the fridge or frame them and hang them in his office at work.

He wanted.

There was the hissing slide of air as Szayel-san opened the door and light came filtering in, as well as the owner of the voice that was too much, too much.

"Fuck, Szayel, ya good?" was the deep growl, with just a hint of tightness from some unnamed emotion.

"Yes Grimm-chan, I'm fine, but…" his slightly unstable voice trailed off, and the green eyed boy could practically feel their gazes slide to the tight ball of pain that was he.

"Shit," it was so soft, that even his keen hearing could barely pick it up. "Oh, shit."

A moments silence, and the sound of the harsh man's approach, then his crouching down next to his tiny ball of agony; heat radiated off of the man, reaching out to the cold pit in his chest and soothing over it, causing his muscles to trembled just that bit more that spoke of his turmoil.

"Szayel, leave," the man ordered, and he did, after a moment's hesitation.

Heat encircled his agonized frame, and he felt his skin _ache_. The feeling was so familiar, so nostalgic, that he made a choking noise, unaware of the fact that his teeth had let go of what skin was still connected to the interior of his lip, and that more blood spilled out of his mouth, until he could taste it again after having acclimated to it. He let strong arms band around him without looking up, taking comfort from the familiarity and differences within the embrace. His Otou-san was gentler, but was also firm, he was warm, but he also hesitated, he was smaller, but he was bigger. Because he was Hisagi-san.

"'S'okay kid. I'll get yer dad back," was the soft rumble in his ear, and he could do nothing but nod, feeling the friction heat his blood drained cheeks as his face rubbed up against that firm chest. "Everythin'll be fine. I'll take care of that bastard."

He didn't like this man with his _too much_ness, but the absolute fire behind his words, despite the _too_ _much_ness of it, told him that this man meant what he said; he would "take care of" Aizen-sama.

It was painful to uncurl from the position that instinct and pain had crushed him into, but he managed to turn into the heat of the man that he'd never met before and embrace it, his small hands clutching shakily and frantically to the front of the other's shirt, knuckles aching, skin burning. There was a shift of his equilibrium as the firm, strong detective stood, holding the still mostly curled up boy in his arms, and Ulquiorra pressed his forehead firmly over the beating of the heart behind the wall of his chest, absorbing the heat that the sound flushed into his body. His heartbeat was louder than Hisagi-san's, more forceful, a harsher beat, the rhythm more animalistic and violent than his Hisagi-san's, but…

It was still nice, even if the man had an irritating voice.

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There was blood, he could feel it.

The slimy stick and shift of the body fluid that had been absorbed into his previously relatively clean shirt was telltale – he knew the signs of the substance even if he couldn't see it – and the fact that the spot was slowly growing didn't pass him by, but it didn't seem serious, and Szayel hadn't mentioned it, so he figured that the other didn't know. His own kid did the same thing when he was overwhelmed, bit his lip until he pierced the soft, thin skin and brought forth the red stains; mostly when he had nightmares or when someone on the force he knew had gotten hurt.

For a moment he wondered if Pantera wasn't going to have nightmares about how Hitsuguya was hurt, before his immediate attention focused on the child trembling a barely perceptible amount within his arms, breathes short and fast, but slowing marginally as he started to leave the room, tightening his grip on the thin frame just the slightest bit more.

When he stepped out into the decimated room filled with oddly familiar passels of cloth, he heard the child in his arms choke harshly, dryly.

"Oi," his gruff voice was softened and his brows drawn down in his characteristic scowl, as well as with a frown mixing into it. "What…"

He couldn't continue, as he looked down towards the child, his eyes had caught on two easily identifiable shades of blue, one baby blue, the other midnight.

"Son-of-a-bitch," he breathed, ruffling downy black hair as he did so.

Now he definitely had to save the godforsaken designer, his promise to the child just reinforced by his need to thank the man for the joy he'd brought to Pantera and the cynical Lillinette.

Hearing a barely contained whine from the trembling form in his arms, he continued forward, feeling that the destruction was something that the child just couldn't deal with, and knowing that his own ire wouldn't be contained by the tiny life which he held for long if he too stayed within the vicinity. If he let loose while still within range of the boy, he'd just frighten him more, and contrary to popular belief throughout the district, he didn't enjoy frightening small children as a hobby.

Berry's were more fun.

As he walked through the trashed apartment, he idly wondered what exactly his 'lil Berry was up to at this moment. They'd parted on good terms, and he'd enjoyed hanging out with Pantera and the detective, he was sure, but… it wouldn't hurt to check up on him later.

The crackling of glass under his high tops and the sound of the voices from the officers that'd come with him into the suite caused the child in his arms to jerk and stiffen, hardening into stone. Szayel looked over from where he'd been conversing with one of the underlings whose name Grimmjow hadn't taken the time to remember and his brows drew together on his pale, effeminate features as he took in the sight before him, before a contemplative look crossed them as well. There were the lower ranking officers taking pictures and the blunette grimaced as he glanced over the rather wide pool of thinly smeared blood on the floor, knowing that it had all stemmed from the smooth voice from over the phone, the giver of the blue cloths for the blanket that was – at this very moment – covering his child.

_This shit's all kindsa fucked up, _he thought with a deep frown, one hand moving up to brace the back of the thin, troubled child's soft head. _What the fuck is Aizen up ta?_

As Szayel approached the pair, watching the fukutaicho dodge around broken figurines and the like, the smoothly muscled detective felt another shudder moved over the mostly still child in his arms. The frame of the boy – _Ulquiorra_, he remembered distantly – was taller than that of his own cat eyed charge, and possibly Lillinette, but he weighed less than both of the two children he was most acquainted with. It wasn't that this child didn't eat, he could tell the difference between starvation and simple slender physique, yet he found himself startled at the fact that the boy was such a _featherweight_. From the clothes he wore, he was probably one of the frighteningly tidy children, the kind that actually cleaned up after themselves and didn't like to play in the dirt; honestly, he'd thought dirt was the shit until he was about five, and decided that terrorizing the populace was more fun. The clothes were nice, and they were soft. The detective presumed that they were homemade, as his father was a designer, and the person who'd sent the cloth to them had seemed like the kind of person who would dote on their own children.

"Grimm-chan," the pink haired doctor's voice pulled him from his revelry and he looked over at him with a scowl as he continued to make his way around the demolished room. "You should take Ul-chan away from here."

"Nani?" he paused slanting an incredulous look at the irritating man, feeling a little unsettled at the seriousness of his expression. "I was jus' gonna hand 'im off ta Starrk."

"No," the suddenly exhausted looking effeminate man shook his head before the detective had even finished speaking. "He won't go with Starrk."

"Eh?" after a moments thought, he realized that the annoying, normally abnormally cheerful man was right.

With his face pressed so determinedly against the blunette's scarred sternum, his breath fluttering and sending cold chills to the wet blood stains on the front of his shirt, the tight grip on said clothing, this kid wasn't going anywhere.

Grimacing and sighing, he rolled his eyes and made his way out of the suite, nearly running into his taicho in the process.

One look at his old friends face had the words of irritation he was going to fling at the other lost in the wind. Those steel gray eyes were hard and narrow, brows furrowed lightly as he studied his subordinate, the left side of his mouth quirked down with displeasure; hidden behind the slightly irritated, sleepy look, was furious calculating.

"What's happened?" left his mouth before he could stop it.

"…" with a grimace the taicho ran a hand through his wavy locks before answering. "Kurosaki Ichigo is missing."

His stomach dropped through his gut, nearly taking his spine with it as he took a sharp breath.

"I'm going to _kill _Aizen," he enunciated very carefully, his normal half-assed cant disturbing in its clarity.

KIKIKIKI

_Thump-thump._

He groaned lightly, an aching burn in his throat and chest, rolling his head until the confounding noise sped up a little, before slowing and steadying.

_Thump-thump._

A hand brushing through his hair, fingertips massaging his scalp softly and evenly, touch steady and unruffled, warm. His face screwed up a little before relaxing at the dull, uncomfortable pounding behind his eyes and at the base of his skull.

_Thump-thump._

Another groan of discomfort as the pulsing in his skull deepened for a moment, sharpened, before ebbing, earned him a soft, reassuring _shush_ing from whoever it was that comforted him, and soothed the headache with nimble fingers.

_Grimmjow…? _After the thought, he immediately reprimanded his foggy, unreasonable faculties as they began to return to him. _Baka Ichigo, Grimmjow's at work – _

Slit eyes and a fox smile.

_Ah._

He had been –

Body jerking with remembrance, he gasped and couldn't hold back a coughing fit as it irritated his raw throat, feeling his face flush as whoever it was that he'd been _laying _on helped him to sit up, running both of their warm, slim, long fingered hands over his chest and back soothingly, fighting back the irritation with distraction, an action that seemed practiced. With his eyes squeezed shut, he leaned against the lean body next to him, taking in the fact that it was a guy who was helping him out, and still making those embarrassingly efficient soothing, hushing noises. His skin itched slightly, as if he'd forgotten to take a shower after swimming in a local lake, or when he'd slept after working out before washing up, all sweaty and sticky. Slowly opening his eyes, he found that the room in which he was half propped up against this stranger was comfortably dimmed, but bright enough to study.

It was nice enough, a little impersonal, a lot like a hotel room actually, but not his cup of tea. Cream colored walls with abstract, senseless, and a little creepy paintings adorning them, with brown carpeting.

Turning to look at the man on whom he'd been laying, he was shocked by the exhaustion lining the battered, pale, tattooed features. Behind the smirk worthy 69 tattoo on his left cheek, the bar tattooed over these numbers, the scars; he found a dull concern for himself that seemed sadly misplaced, and he felt his chest pulse with sympathy. Coal grey eyes held him with a weary acceptance.

It was almost… refreshing.

"Are you alright now?" the voice was low, not as low as Grimmjow's, but so fair and smooth that he felt his pulse jerk before resuming a more normal semblance. "Do you feel sick?"

Now that the man mentioned it, he did have a heavy, stagnant feeling of nausea within the pit of his stomach, which was mostly full of alcohol, as Shiro had been planning on feeding him again after they'd finished at the bar. It wasn't threatening to be a puke-fest just yet, but he knew he wouldn't be doing any jumping jacks just yet.

"A bit, but – " a drip of red caught his attention, and the orangette felt his worry spike; the man was hurt. "You're hurt!"

"Ah, please don't worry about me," the smooth, polite voice murmured, something cold, lonely, and very nearly terrifying moving through his soft, humane gaze. "It's nothing serious."

"Not serious my ass," he snapped, shifting around until he was standing on his knees on the mattress they were on – something he'd just noticed – and moving the blood caked dark hair away from the wound noticing a twinge in the bend of his left elbow as he did and glancing down only to blink at the blood there.

Was he hurt? He didn't remember getting hurt…

"Ano, Kurosaki-san," the orangette flinched, whipping his gaze back to the sad, beaten man's face at the soft intonation of his surname. "It's really nothing serious…"

"How do you know my name?" he queried after a moment of tense silence.

"They… mentioned it."

Feeling his brows draw together at this statement, the young art student studied the man before him, his fingers still gently sifted into the dark locks, which were surprisingly smooth, just like the man's voice, rather than coarse, the way that their rather fashionably choppy appearance. There was something about this man that seemed familiar the longer he looked at him, the more he studied those features, the more a slight fuzzy picture began to build, but it made his head pound, and with some upset, he let it fall away for another time.

"Well, let's do introductions anyways," he heard himself mutter, scowling. "I don't like the idea of whoever it is that jacked up my evening throwing my name around."

Dark eyes blinked at him a moment, before a corner of the handsome man's lips quirked up, giving his fine features a roguish look, his left brow lifting a little as well at the look of infuriated indignation on the golden skinned art student's malleable face.

"Well, I'll start it off, even though you already know my name," continuing his examination of the slim man's injury, he hissed through his teeth, wincing in sympathy at the blunt show of force behind whatever had split the skin. "This looks like it hurts," he muttered, ghosting his fingertips around the two small gashes, one slightly longer than the other; it was as if he'd been punched by someone wearing a ring. "Kurosaki Ichigo."

"Ah, well, Kurosaki-san," there was a slight breathless tone to the voice that – from the hitch when he'd feathered his fingertips over the sensitive skin – he was sure was pain. "My name is Hisagi Shuuhei."

For a moment he froze, before dropping back to sit on his feet, staring at the sheepish expression on the scarred features before his jaw dropped from the shock of it.

_Holy shit!_

MEMEMEME

**REVIEW! **So, I hope that this chapter was better. It certainly _feels_ better, and was much more fun to write, anyway.

P.S. If I don't get 15 reviews, I'll withhold chappies!


	9. Idol

Thanks for the shout-out, _Alrye_-san! This chappy is for you! (Plus my celebration of not writing bad despite a concussion that makes me think I have late set dyslexia~!)

Très chouette, non?

In case anyone was wondering, these are the ages of my fanfic cast, the ones that will show up more and I find important enough to note. I'll update on ages when I add in new characters, but for now, this is it.

Grimmjow 24 Pantera 9 Ichigo and Shiro 21 Starrk 31 Lillinette 11 Hitsuguya 19 Hisagi 25

Ulquiorra 11 Szayel 29 Aizen 38 Ichimaru 33 Renji 22 Akon 34 Ren 23 Kaien 26 Kensei 41 (thanks for the reminder _Gypsygrrl _, heh)

69696969

It was sad that somebody could look so attractive to him whilst _gaping_ at him like a fish, mouth opening and closing, brows scrunched in perplexity; he was sure it had something to do with the hands that were still buried in his hair, hands that he would have known with just a glance belonged to an artist, even if Aizen-san hadn't revealed this to him prior. Those doe brown eyes were wide and shocked, a light flush crossing golden skin that was lightly dusted with freckles across the bridge of his nose, like fine pollen within the hold of a flower; it was such a contrast to the previous expression that the designer had seen on the young man's face, that he couldn't help but feel relieved.

Honestly, it was a little discomfiting, and not a little embarrassing.

_"Kaname," the calm voice was slightly chiding, but enough to have __Tōsen-san yanking his hands off the designer's body, leaving a dull tingle of relief and dread in his wake."I remember asking you to wait until Gin returned. Did I not make myself clear enough?"_

_ "Gomenesai, Aizen-sama," the smooth, hitched voice of his ex guardian next to his ear nearly made him gag, but he managed to keep his head down enough to swallow lightly, keeping the reflexive action at bay."I forgot myself. Shitsureishimasita *."_

_ "Hmm… Ah," a sound of pleased surprise as the light clicking of a door was heard."Gin, you've returned, and you've brought me just what I've asked for, marvelous!"_

_ It wasn't hard to pick up on the subtle threat in those words towards the coal eyed man's former guardian, even if he hadn't felt the black man shudder and retreat from him further still._

_ Someone yanked up on his dark hair, and the designer couldn't hold back his small cry of pain or his gasping breathes afterwards at the shot of pain that lanced through his skull, scar pulsing in a reminder of the past in the most eerie of ways as his eyes shot open, vision blurry and painful before he could focus on the scene before him. As he took in the sight before him, he felt his stomach drop with foreboding._

_ He half wished he'd been able to pull off playing unconscious._

_ A young man, little more than a boy in the designer's eyes, was carefully being settled into a wood framed chair with cushions sown and bolted on by Ichimaru-san, his smooth, youthful features troubled and drowsy as his head lolled to the side that the coal eyed man happened to be on, baring an enticing, clean line of golden flesh to all those who could see it. As he watched, his own neck painfully arched by the grip his hair, eyes dimming and focusing periodically, a man who wore what appeared to be show makeup entered the room followed by a pretty woman, both wearing the oddest ensembles, matching in their inconsistency; was everyone he met so… unable in their fashion choices? _

_ Yellow and blue didn't go together when it was canary and dodger blue, and certainly not with _white_ thrown into the mix, it almost made him grimace in distaste until he caught sight of something the woman was carrying._

_ There was a bag in her hand, one similar to Szayel-san's medical bag only much less sanitary in appearance... and canary yellow._

_ "The usual, I presume, Aizen-sama?" the man's voice was rather thin and reedy. He didn't bother waiting for confirmation as he held out his hand to the woman expectantly. "Nemu."_

_ "Hai, Kurotsuchi-sama," the woman's – whose name was apparently Nemu – tone was robotic, but with a hint of worshipful indulgence as she reached into the bag and pulled out a syringe, handing it with the utmost care to this Kurotsuchi._

Oh, no,_ he felt his eyes widen painfully and his body jerk as the young man's jacket was removed, body a malleable, soft jointed toy for those around the unconscious boy. As his elbow was exposed and prepped for the strange man with the syringe, his heart thumped once in loud, unsettling protest. _No, no, not this.

_ Szayel-san had told him of this, when he'd first checked over Ulquiorra-kun, the excess drugs that littered the child's system; an explanation for the array of dotted scars on the bend of each of his son's pale elbows, and inner thighs._

_ Despite the pain that shuddered though his body and the darkening tunnel of his vision, he struggled against the hands that held him, the metal handcuffs on his wrists cutting in and bruising as he pulled against them, scraping his skin in a mild, pressured pain he used to keep himself coherent. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the look of dark, pleased amusement on Aizen-san's pleasantly – devoid of any true emotion – inquiring features, and he felt his loathing tear at him, a sharp cry of protesting panic escaping his lips before he could stop himself._

_ "Don't!" voice dry, harsh, and a little slurred to his own ears, he felt dread build in his chest as the 5__th__ precinct taicho turned his gaze from the boneless, attractive young man to the beaten designer._

_ The full force of those inhumanly cruel, intelligent eyes was making it hard for him to breath, and he felt sweat start to form on his brow and upper lip, his aches pulsing with his heartbeat, as well as his vision. He managed to pull his own weary gaze from Aizen-san's with his desperation to make sure that what happened to his Ulquiorra-kun didn't happen to this beautifully innocent seeming young man._

_ That needle was still _too close_…_

_ "Ah, Hisagi-kun, so you've decided to join us," the pleasant greeting had the coal eyed man's teeth on edge, jaw tingling with suppressed nausea, and he couldn't help the shudder that wormed through his system as those deceitful eyes held his gaze anew, this time with such a force he felt his mouth dry to the sticky excuse for saliva that comes when you oversleep. It almost made him want to wash his eyes out, and he longed for something to drink. "I was wondering how long I would have to wait for you to regain your composure after our conversation before."_

_ "F-forgive me," his voice trembled slightly from his dry lips, 'F' drawn out and shockingly hard to force from his lips with his slur, his 'M' more of 'hmm' than anything else, and he fought to control himself, succeeding in the task of smoothing out his speech for the most part, slurring only slightly, words slow and carefully pronounced, mind tired. "I didn't mean to be an inconvenience."_

_ Out of the corner of his eye he caught the sly expression on Ichimaru-san's pale features, and heard the breathy chuckle as he realized how that might sound._

_ He didn't think he had in him to backtalk and taunt the man in such a situation, when he couldn't even do so under normal circumstances, just thinking about it sent cold sweat and chills down his spine._

_ "Oh, no, Hisagi-kun, just the opposite," those deep brown pools of darkness slid from the designer's lighter, unfocused grays with blown, unevenly dilated pupils, and he found himself relax a smidgen, even with the hand that was still painfully knotted in his hair, grip tightening and loosening methodically in an almost familiar way. "You presence makes things so much simpler."_

_ Mouth feeling dry, tongue heavy and sticky Hisagi struggled to swallow against the tight knot of tension building in his throat, the knowing that this whole ordeal was mostly likely to get to his father in some way, to hurt him or force him into an action that he wouldn't do for anyone else, but…_

_ "What about the boy?" he couldn't help asking, feeling his pulse quicken as the man with the needle – Kurotsuchi – banded the hand that wasn't holding the syringe around the base of a shapely golden bicep, the veins below his harsh grasp bulging on his defined forearms and the bend of his elbow. "May I ask about how his presence makes things… simpler?"_

_ "Kurosaki-kun?" the dark haired man pursed his lips thoughtfully, tapping a finger against them as he considered the boy; Hisagi hadn't a doubt in his mind that the dangerous man knew exactly what he was going to say beforehand, and that the designer himself was most likely walking into a perfectly set trap. He loathed mind games, and now he was trapped by the master in his carefully constructed web, and somehow this Kurosaki boy was in this as well; there was nothing he could do that hadn't already been foreseen. "He makes things simpler in a rather different way, much more complicated as well. He's a gift. An unexpected, problematic gift. Things will be much faster than anticipated…" the last sentence was barely caught as his hearing faded, as well as the man's words, as if he really hadn't noticed himself speaking._

_ Ichimaru-san shifted in the corner of his eye, but he didn't move his attention away from the 5__th__ precinct taicho, for fear that if he did, something horrible was going to happen. It was a silly fear._

_ Something horrible was _already_ happening._

_ Removing his black rimmed glasses and running his hand back through is very carefully styled dark locks, his entire personality changed, as well as his voice. Like flipping a switch. Still calm, smooth, and charismatic, now there was a darker, more sinister air to him, one that'd only been hinted at before._

_ "Now," was the relaxed, dark tone that brooked no argument._

_ Wide coal eyes were locked with dark pools of apathy, and as he jerked away from those eyes, gaze straying to the attractive gold skinned boy and the irritatingly clash-tastic man with kabuki makeup on his face. _

_ "Kurotsuchi," dark glee._

_ The needle moved._

"You – you're – oh, you've _got_ to be kidding me!" the young art student finally cried, face flushed prettily with excitement, caramel candy eyes bright and wide. "You're the reason I started to paint in the first place! Hell, if I'd known that they were gonna introduce me to you they wouldn't have had to go through all this fuss and kidnap me!"

"Uh…"

_Well, that certainly wasn't what I was expecting_, he thought, the young man's hands falling away from his scalp carefully, running over his own features wincing as his elbow bothered him. The designer felt the tight knot of his stomach, and the pounding of his skull dull with the warmth that fluttered from his chest at the thought that he could've been of some use to this pretty golden young man. _I don't think I've ever been told that I'd inspired anyone before… _

"Shiro's not gonna believe this," a quick, delighted gasp. "And wait until I tell _Renji_! They're not gonna believe this! _The_ Hisagi Shuuhei! Shit, man!" it didn't seem like the boy knew that he was pattering on in such a manner, as his previous disposition was surly and brash, but this, this was a reaction that caused a light flush to move over the tattooed man's fair features, his eyes downcast with a sudden bout of shyness. "Oh, man, when we get out of this I'm so gonna show you my work! I –" blinking, the orangette came back to himself, realizing that he was carefully rubbing at the sore and bloody bend of his elbow, as well as blathering on like an ecstatic teenager in front of an Idol.

Hisagi vaguely wondered if you could cook off the heat of the youth's cheeks.

KIKIKIKI

_Oh my God,_ _this is almost as bad as when I told Grimmjow that I wanted him,_ it placated him slightly that the attractive, tired looking man also sported a light blush, nothing compared to Ichigo's own, but the shy pleasure was close enough that it appeased him. For a moment his mind drifted to burning sapphires the color of the summer sea in Guam, the feel of a strong, callused hand kneading at the back of his neck, the feather light touch of fingertips against his flushed, scowling features. _Grimmjow…_

He wouldn't feel this apprehension balling up in the pit of his uneasy stomach if that confident strength with a dash of softness thrown in was at his back, or by his side. For a moment he felt guilty about thinking this, as he wasn't alone, he was with the notoriously private Hisagi Shuuhei, the proprietor of the Rukongai fashion company; for Kami's sake, he was wearing the man's Hell Butterfly line jeans! He was pretty sure he had a 69 brand Boston coat at his apartment, too. It didn't matter that Grimmjow wasn't there – the slight pang in his chest was ignored at this – it only mattered that he wasn't in this alone, and neither was the soft-spoken, polite, _wounded_ man before him.

It wasn't fair to the designer, and fuck if he was going to turn into a puddle of goo just thinking about that rough around the edges detective with his smoldering gaze and quick, flirtatious grin.

"Hisagi-san," he'd managed to quiet his excitement, his voice now subdued; it wasn't hard, considering his current mortification. "Why are we here?"

"That…" the corners of his lips drew down in one of the most forlorn, anguished frowns he'd ever seen, and the young man felt his heart wrench; he'd barely even twitched a muscle, and he felt like he'd just kicked a puppy! One long fingered hand which had previously been combing through orange locks soothingly, now reached up towards the designer's temple, only to halt halfway, as if the man had just started to notice the action before dropping to his lap again. "It's rather –"

The art student couldn't stop himself from grabbing the man's hand and tugging on it, sliding his legs over the edge of the bed, stocking feet hitting the carpeting as he gently pulled the man along behind him, finding that the designer was only an inch or so taller than himself, their body types rather similar, although the elder was a bit more angular than the younger. His own build was athletic, whereas the other was slender and graceful in a most startling way; he couldn't help but wonder idly if the lighter skinned man was hetero or not, if not, well… no one would mind his admiring the scenery, even knowing that he himself was embarrassingly hooked on the blue friggin' wonder. When looking at the famous designer – he was talking to _the_ Hisagi Shuuhei! – he had the vague sense of thinking about Grimmjow again, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly as to why that was. They weren't particularly alike, their mannerisms speaking _volumes_ about the difference in them, but…

Why did he want to say the detective's name to this man? Why did he want to call him something other than his name?

"There a bathroom in here?" he heard himself ask, pausing in his guiding of the other man, welcoming the cool, dry palm clasped against his own hot and slightly damp one. "I want to clean up the nasty bump on your head, and maybe help you with that headache."

"Ah, hai," his voice was mildly uneasy, soft and peculiar, the words a tidbit slurred and sleepy, causing the art student to glance back in alarmed worry. He got an absent, helpless smile in return, one that said, _I'm not going to argue with you_. "Just to the left there, you can't miss it."

Blinking, he turned only to find out that this was very true, and with a scowling flush, he pulled the other man towards the inconspicuous doorway that he'd _completely _missed in his previous perusal of the layout of the room. Hand grasping the silver knob, he pushed open the door, flicking on the light a moment later, flinching with the famous designer at the discomfort of his eyes taking in the bright florescent lights, compared to the calmer, more warm lighting of the main room.

It was sparse; all of the basic necessities, but definitely one of the uglier, duller washrooms that he'd ever had the mischance to see.

"Sit down on the toilet," the art student murmured, moving towards the cupboards beneath the sink, praying that there was a first aid kit in here. "Ah, lucky!"

A shoebox sized, clear Tupperware greeted him, the contents just what he needed, and a little unsettling. Why would they give him scissors and needles and stuff if he was being held captive? Wouldn't they expect them to try and break out? A cold shiver traveled over his spine, sweat further chilling his back.

This showed that they were just that confident, and that caused a dark foreboding in the golden skinned orangette, his chocolaty eyes glancing to his slightly bloodstained elbow.

Just what was going on here?

"Kurosaki-san? Daijoubu?" was the tentative, slightly slurred intonation of worry behind him, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Ah, heki, heki," shifting around to face the other man, he grimaced as his knee gave a wet, hollow pop from his positioning on the linoleum floor. Rather than hurting, it pulsed lightly with distant warmth and a slight ache. "And call me Ichigo. It's weird if you us 'san' since I'm younger than you, and I'm not so good with honorifics anyway."

"H-hai, Kuro – ah – Ichigo," clearing his throat, the man bowed his dark head obligingly when the art student stood and gently motioned for the older man to tilt his head, glad that his flush of discomfited embarrassment was covered by the shaggy fall of his dark hair. "If that's what you'd prefer… Then you should do the same in regards to addressing me."

"… Alright… Shuuhei," the designer didn't notice the strangled note in the orangette's voice, only the rushing of blood to his face as he heard his first name said in such a forthright manner.

Ichigo himself was rather tied in knots. _I just called my friggin' Idol by his first name!_

10101010

Whatever it was that Aizen was planning, he was moving quickly to complete his task. Much too quickly.

First Hisagi Shuuhei, and now Kurosaki Ichigo? Why would he single out those two individuals? What was their connection to all of this?

Turning to Akon after having hung up his cell, having finished informing his taicho of the call from the bar _Ôken_, the place where they got a lot of their information from, he considered the information that they had gathering around them, idly noting that the science department head was frowning as he in turn took in the pale boy's expression. Shiba-san had seemed quite worried for the young man, and even after having found out that the recently kidnapped designer was the man's younger brother, he couldn't bring himself to be the one to tell him; he liked Shiba-san, he was fun and nice. Not at all judgmental, and could look passed the prodigy's age to have important, serious conversations with the teal eyed boy.

"Akon-san," he finally found himself saying.

"Hai?" the serious faced man was already smoothly moving towards his throne; his computer chair.

"You've already started the search for Hisagi Shuuhei on the net and server collections, yes?"

"Ah, I have."

"Do the same for Kurosaki Ichigo, and find out what connects those two. I'm assuming that it has something to do with Muguruma-taicho, but it's always better to be certain."

"Wakatta," bored eyes flickered from the three screens that were set up before him on his desk and caught the narrowed concentration of the pale prodigy's own, reading the numbers that flickered behind without thought. "Ren," a stammered _H-hai!_. "Start cross-referencing for Kurosaki Ichigo and Hisagi Shuuhei."

"Hai!"

Hitsuguya pulled is gaze away from that of his sometimes coffee buddy, whose hands were currently flying over the keyboard, three separate monitors do three separate things at the same time, and the other male did the same, turning to give his full attention to the task appointed him.

Closing the door behind himself as he left, he had the comfort of knowing that the techs would have what he needed in 20 minutes or less, unless the information that they were searching for was imbedded or safeguarded from fishing. Without thought, he made his way passed the officers who were gathered outside the door, his knees feeling weak and liquid as he automatically headed towards the taicho's office rather than his own shared space with Grimmjow, as was the two fukutaicho's habit. They spent more time in the lazy eyed man's space than within their own, it was more familiar and comforting than the dusty space that he and his partner used more for paperwork storage and extra clothes than anything else.

Plus, the children were in there.

Sliding through the door and closing it softly after him, he let his weary eyes adjust to the dim light that was cast by the soul lamp on the lazy, handsome brunettes desk, a handmade beaded lizard keychain that Lillinette had made hung from the metal neck below the lampshade. If he turned off the light, the foggy beads mixed in with the blue and green would glow randomly, spotty like a green tinted night sky.

He turned his gaze to the comfortable sofa that was oh-so-sweetly calling him to sleep, his tired, beaten body protesting his still upright positioning, and he felt his fingernails pulse in time with his heartbeat. Lillinette was curled around Pantera like he was a stuffed animal, the soft blue blanket that covered them slipping towards the unassuming, unattractive tile flooring and off their small bodies. The girl's face was scrunched up like she was uncomfortable, and he was quite sure it was because she was starting to get a bit chilled; she had piles of blankets and pillows on her bed at home, and she curled up in them like a cocoon when she finally conked herself out, a nest of heat that at times he was sure had heat waves above it. He didn't particularly like being in her room when she'd just woken up, as he wasn't keen on warm weather, let alone in-home saunas.

His skin felt warm however, in contrast to the chill he knew permeated the room, even causing his partner's not-son to mewl softly and curl under his older, female friend.

This made him move.

Carefully crossing the room, he shifted and tucked the blanket around the two youths before slowly easing onto the end that the two intertwined bodies didn't have quarter over, slowly letting out a controlled breath at the pulsing heat of pain that serrated his muscles in his descent. He felt like someone decided that they wanted to run him over with a steam roller.

_Now_, he thought, taking a deep breath and relaxing into the couch, not ignorant of the fact that the smoky, spicy smell of the room helped him to loosen; he'd never denied the fact of the taicho's appeal, and he wasn't ashamed or embarrassed to admit that the man smelled damn _good_. He tucked the soft blue material carefully around the two children whom he'd taken a liking to, even before he'd become so attached to their respective parents, before leaning further into the couch, arms heavy and tired in his lap, boneless. Crystalline eyes stayed half lidded for a moment before falling shut, his weary mind sorting details and information much like a skilled historian researching a battle might. _Time to figure out just what the hell Aizen and Ichimaru are doing. _

1… 4… 7… 12…

Before he reached 15, he was asleep, head tiredly sagging to the side, breathes light and smooth, whole body pulsing with an ache that was no longer apparent to him in his dreamless state.

MEMEMEME

*Thanks so much to _filianox noctis_ for her correction of my lack in Japanese knowledge! Thanks to her I won't be laughed at in secret as much!

Now, because I got such a _lame _amount of reviews and still updated despite only getting _11 _of the 15 I wanted, only a few worth actually _counting,_ I will no longer except random _Squee_, _Kawaii_, _This is so good, keep it up!_, or _I can't wait for the next chapter!_. I want more than two lines, and I would like to know what you actually _like _about TNS (The Number Six), okay? De wa, I hope you enjoyed this concussion chappy! ^_^


	10. Change

Sorry, sorry! Life likes to kick my ass :/ So, I'm not so caring about reviews, I realized I've got plenty after I went through them, lol. I was like _o.O Holy cheese-puffs! _

And now…

KSKSKSKS (Shiro, by the by)

_ "Fuck!" breathing heavy, he bent over to catch his breath, hands propped against his knees as he cursed, his eyes watering with the strain; not, he told himself, because he was panicking or frantic because he'd lost sight of the black, nondescript Charger that he'd been tailing since his brother was trussed away by some heavy freaks and a fox. _He_ didn't cry, that was Ichi's job._

Ichi_…_

_ With a low groan he pushed himself to standing again, rather than bent over and heaving like the bellows of hell. He hadn't run in - he didn't know _how _long, and the errant thought that maybe he should start passed through his pulsing skull. It wasn't as if Renji wouldn't like the company when he went running on the occasional morning. Actually, it might frighten the redhead a bit, as the albino wasn't the most sociable of people, and never particularly cared for his health, actively, at least._

_ "Goddamn it, otouto! You make life so friggin' hard!"_

_ Turning on his heel, he started back towards the bar, with a mind to get Kaien to call the police on that snake-faced bastard and find his color counterpart before the night was out, he put the burning, numb sensation of his lungs behind him and booked it. Whatever the fuck his otouto had gotten involved in, he was gonna tear it the fuck up. He had a nagging foreboding that it had to do with this most recent incident, the one that his little brother had had nightmares about, stirring up the past and causing jerking, denied grief in his albino counterpart._

_ And rage._

_ Completely bypassing the doorman – who knew better than to try and stop _Shiro_, luckily – he streaked expertly through the crowd towards one of the few people he considered his friend, unknowingly expressing a tense upset that immediately caused concern in the friendly individual behind the bar._

_ "What's wrong Shiro?" the comforting voice of his intended target caused the white jackal to jerk, the nervous tension in his shoulder tightening with the movement before his odd eyes met those of dark concern on features so similar to his own and his younger twin that he felt a pang of worry in his chest. Kaien examined the primal twist of angst in his younger friend's expression, gaze flickering over the crowd with a shock of insight. "Where's Ichigo?"_

_ "Kaien," heartbeat thundering in his ears and teeth grinding together so that his jaw ached, the secret chef settled against the bar, leaning in close to the taller man. "You need to make a call."_

_ Dark eyes widened for a moment before narrowing, brows drawn together, lips compressed; he signaled to someone at the other end of the bar and started towards the door-slab before grabbing Shiro – who'd followed along on the opposing side of the bar – by the wrist, towing him to the back of the bar and into Urahara's office. The albino's gaze traveled around the room, quite unsurprised by the knick-knacks, stray toys, candies, glow sticks and computer bits that were scattered around the office, considering the man who owned the bar. What did surprise him, though, was that the desk towards the back of the office was rather prim and organized, nothing like what either Yoruichi _or_ Urahara would have around, or what they would use; it clicked after a moment that this must be Kaien's responsibility._

_He was the only one who he could fathom out of the few bartenders who worked there that would be able to keep any space inside as his own, and business-like, or that would be allowed into the crazy hat-bastard's space._

_ It was ironic, _highly_ entertaining, and in any other circumstances, the jackal would have grinned and made all sorts of jokes about it, driving his pleasant, fun-loving companion up the wall, and his otouto into fits of laughter and awed bemusement. If his otouto hadn't been – _

_ "Get me Starrk," the older man's voice was completely serious, a tone that was rarely heard from the bartender, and it brought the fidgety cook's attention back to the current situation, where he wasn't supposed to break off in a fit of uselessly violent rage and break everything in sight. "Well, then get me Tōshirō or Grimmjow."_

"_Hey, Tōshirō," as the taller, darker man leaned back against the desk, the elder Kurosaki brother moved to his side, positioning rather the same, except his arms were folded with hostility over his chest rather than with his hands in his pockets as the bartender's free hand was. "How're you feeling?"_

_ "Should've known you'd have heard about that, Shiba-san," a youthful, attractive voice, a tad wry, but otherwise bored, intoned over the line, and the albino couldn't help a tiny part of his mind perking up with interest; hey, he was always looking for some entertainment. "I'm better than I could be, but not at my best. Is there something you needed?"_

_ "Yeah, I'd like to report something," dark eyes flickered towards the younger man and a grimace of distaste crossed his handsome features. Shiro couldn't help but feel a bit bad about that._

_ It was rare to see the other man in a bad mood, and it was even rarer to be the cause._

_ Most of the time his ire was dealt from his mysterious family, the one that he casually spoke of, but never actually gave any _names _for. So far, the albino knew that he had a shy younger brother with a son – apparently the man was a little forgetful of things not concerning his son or work, not that Kaien blamed him, but it was irritating at times – a serious, intimidating father, and an eccentric mother whom the mention of caused him to shudder even as a fond smile would shift over his features._

_ It was irritating, the fact that he didn't know as much about one of his few friends as he'd like, honestly, the other knew just about everything about _him_, but that may have come with the territory, as he _was_ in the information business._

_ "A young man was –" again, those eyes flickered to Shiro, and the alabaster skinned man nodded at the assumption the other man was inferring through his gaze, the one he'd yet to actually _tell _the other man. Sometimes he took advantage of his friend's insightfulness, and it seemed that this was one of those times. "– Taken, kidnapped from the bar. I didn't see it, but his brother did, and –" _Ah, Kaien knows me well, _the secret chef mused as the other continued. "– Chased after the guys but lost 'em," _Car? _Kaien mouthed, an inquiring brow raised. _Black Dodge Charger, 2010, _he mouthed back, indicating the color by pulling on his friends Tshirt and holding up fingers for the year, brows drawn with his internal upset. "Car's a Black Dodge Charger, 2010 model."_

_ "… I see, and the name of the individual?" there was something off in the young voice, and again, the two shared a glance._

_ "Kurosaki Ichigo."_

_ A softly caught breath on the other end of the line, then a momentary pause before the attractive voice continued. "This wouldn't have happened to have occurred about 45 minutes ago, would it?"_

_ "Hai…" this was dragged out as Shiro tensed, wetting his lips and nearly baring his teeth._

_ Something was up._

_ This little fucker – no matter how intriguing his voice was, it meant nothing if he had a connection to the missing presence of his Ichi – knew something, and he wasn't gonna fess up to it._

_ "Alright, I'll see what I can do," hesitance and fatigue shadowed his next words, the albino's friend's brows pulled down, and he vaguely felt uncomfortable behind his frantically worried rage; he hated it when his precious people looked… wrong. Like Kaien did then, full of turmoil and apprehension. "I'm sorry, Shiba-san."_

_ "Tōshirō?" he queried, worry filtering into the deep tones of the bartender; why was the young man apologizing? No matter how suspicious the police officer's unshared knowledge was, the elder Kurosaki wasn't surprised that his friend would be concerned about the other; Kaien was a worrier._

_ "I've got to go, but if you hear anything else, call me. Make sure it's a safe line. We're a bit… inhibited at the moment. Better yet, call Starrk, Grimmjow or myself on our private cells. You have the numbers, correct?"_

_ "Hai."_

_ "Good, just let us know if anything comes up. Oh, I forgot to ask. Is your family well?"_

_ At the pained swallow and slow blink his friend couldn't hold back Shiro felt his heartbeat pick up and his hand tremble and clench. What was it? What had just happened? Was there something up with Kaien's family?_

_ "Last I heard," the bartender managed to keep his voice steady, but a tremor ran over his entire frame before he steadied himself, grounding himself in the moment. If you hadn't seen the previous few seconds, you never would've known that he'd been upset by something. "And the precinct?"_

_ "Besides myself, rather well."_

_ "That's good, then."_

_ "Listen, Shiba-san, I'm terribly sorry but I really must go. Don't forget to call if you need anything."_

_ "… Ah, bye-bye," the odd cast to the man's eyes was telling as the young man on the other end of the line returned the sentiment and hung up told the white jackal that there was something extremely wrong that'd just been passed through that message. _Was_ something up with the man's family?_

Just what the fuck is going on around here?

_ Moments passed before the burning in Shiro's gut frayed his nerves to the last strand of his patience. He knew that he needed to calm down, knew that he needed to wait for his friend to get out of the funk that he was in on his own, but… _

_ Ichigo was the emotionally stable one, all things considered. Shiro just didn't have it in him to hold back._

_ "Kaien, what's going on?" tone gruffer than he meant it to be, he felt a moment's guilt at the blinking flinch that crossed the older man's features before the other took a deep breath, and began to dial another number. "Who you callin' now?"_

_ "… My father."_

An hour or so after this fact, his heart was still rattling within the confines of his ribs with upset, and he was faced with a conundrum.

This was the only time in his adult life that he'd ever felt threatened before, but as he looked up at the 9th precinct taicho, he felt his bones quiver beneath his alabaster coated muscles. Only a little while ago, he'd been wondering about Kaien's family, and now, he was seeing it. Really, he should have felt some triumphant, pleasant satisfaction at the fact of finally being let further into his friend's life, but…

Knots of fury and tension wormed their way deeper into this chest, kept his feet kicking with irritated impatience as he sat on Kaien's desk, facing the intimidating force of the fabled Muguruma Kensei. Sure it was a surprise to find out that the bartender's father was a police taicho but…

He hadn't expected him to _hot _of all things.

"Well, what exactly's goin' on, Kaien?" the voice was deep and gruff, slightly irritable and impatient. "Why'd you call me all the way out to this stupid little bar?"

_Stupid? Little?_ Shiro was unaware of his snarling, protective glare on the other man's behalf – Kaien _loved_ the bar – even as his eyes roamed over the barman's father's figure. White ash colored hair that was cut close, but slightly longer and mildly spiky on top, looked soft and careless, like he ran his fingers through it often, or someone else did. Startlingly brown eyes were locked on the softer velvet of his son's, and his muscles rippled nicely beneath his tanned skin, shifting like rocks in a mountain pass; subtle, gradual, but with the deadly force to crush you in an instant.

_Too bad he's married_, a small part of him thought when he caught sight of a plain gold band on one of his large, intriguing hands, even as he pictured all of the awful things that could be happening to his otouto. _Everything_ happened to the younger twin. It was always _him _who had it bad, who ran into trouble; bullied, singled out, molested. _Kidnapped_. It was _he _who was trapped under their mother when–

"Shiro."

Blinking, he realized that he had one hand halfway to holding his face, the expression on it tired and mildly panicked; crazed. _Disgusting_. He sat up and took a breath; he could be calm about this, he could find it in him to be reasonable. This was to get his otouto back, he could be… sociable.

Maybe. Probably.

_Hopefully_.

"What did the man who took him look like?" his friend queried, leaning back against the desk next to him, a look that caused the secret chef to think that maybe the other had his own suspicions in this department settling on his handsome features.

"Pale. Skinny in a gross way. Tall. Smirk a mile wide. Squinty eyes, didn't get the color," he cocked his head on seeing the grimace of distaste on Kensei's features, and hearing the slight, sharp inhalation to his right. "Kinda like me, actually. Although I prefer the term _slim_, to gross."

"Well, shit," Kensei growled, running a hand over his features, deep eyes narrowed, features twisted with some indefinable angsty emotion. "This is fucked."

"Tou-san?"

Brown eyes studied the two young men before him, seeing a thread that he hadn't connected before in the albino's features, causing his brows to furrow and eyes widen just the slightest bit.

"It can't be…" the taicho muttered to himself.

"… Tou-san?" Kaien asked again, sharing a look with the agitated Shiro at his father's continued silence, and the look of grimness dawning on his stoic features.

06060606

The trembling had stopped some time ago, the passage of time of little importance as he comforted the boy and his taicho took care of the crime scene, partner working on finding the two men who'd been abducted this evening. _Is it still even what could be called 'evening'? _he thought mildly through the haze of control he'd kept for the emerald eyed youth in his hold. It wouldn't do to freak the kid out any more than he already was. That would just be cruel, and Grimmjow had no patience for such things anymore, the military had worn that down in him.

The child in his arms had gone limp with exhaustion and shock at some point; his whole little world had been turned upside-down, so the detective couldn't blame him. Startlingly soft head tucked under the frighteningly calm fukutaicho's chin, the boy – _Ulquiorra_, he reminded himself again – was still holding onto him weakly, and would tense horribly whenever he tried to resituate the other into a more comfortable position. Sitting in the car with a chilly, shocked bundle of grief was like being piled on with lead weights; everything seemed so much harder and more urgent. Entrapped.

Because it _was_.

Stroking an idle hand over the thin back facing away from him, he let his head fall back against the headrest, thoughts swirling and tipping dangerously.

Kurosaki Ichigo and Hisagi Shuuhei.

What did those two have in common, and what did they have that Aizen wanted? What potentially useful deals could these two men cinch up for the former 5th precinct taicho? What could they provide that bastard with that was worth pissing off a number of people? Especially, when one of those people was the 9th division taicho; man could be scary as fuck, almost as bad as Unohana.

"Don't suppose ya know, huh?" he murmured softly, breathe stirring the soft black locks against his chin in a way that made his chest ache for his own brat.

He didn't want to think about it, but through the fog of his mind many scenarios drifted around, none of them in the Berry's favor. Knowing what the bastards had done to his young partner, Grimmjow couldn't help but feel that something terrible was going to happen. The thought of _anyone _touching the art student sent him into a mildly angst-ridden rage; he didn't want to admit it, but even if the touching _weren't_ unwilling, the situation different, he knew he'd feel a milder version of this, as well as that twinge in his chest of a missed chance.

While he didn't know the designer personally, and could just barely remember some background noise of his mention, he didn't want the obviously precious Otou-san of this emotional child in his arms to come to any more harm than he already had that night. It would break the emerald eyed child beyond repair, and those big eyes and trembling hands would never be gentle in the way he just _knew _they should be.

Sighing, he leaned back again, mouth tightening with distaste at the facts that surrounded him. He'd looked at the orangette's file, but not the designer's; hadn't had the time. Ichi's Ma was dead, killed in an accident a while back, he had a twin – which was quite an intriguing thought in and of itself, but he pushed it aside, not wanting to get sidetracked – and two little twin sisters. An odd occurrence, but probably a family thing. His dad was still alive, but there had been something…

Something that hadn't seemed important at the time…

The vibration of his phone ringing made him tense slightly, his grip on the child in his arms tightening for a moment before he situated himself to reach for the irritating buzzing so that he could take his annoyance out on whoever it was on the other end of the line, derailing his train of thought irritatingly.

"Nani?" he barked out softly, rubbing gently on Ulquiorra's spine with the thumb of the arm that encircled the small body still.

"Grimmjow, we've found them," his young partner's voice was tired and terse, speaking of evil that he didn't - or couldn't - put words to. "Get back here and drop off Ulquiorra-kun. We're sending you back out."

"Wakatta, be there shortly," hanging up the phone on this both relieving and troubling information, as well as the tired darkness of his young partner's tone, he shifted the child, hating the strangling pang he got when the boy gave a soft, pitiful moue. "Don't worry kid. I'm goin ta get yer dad after I drop ya off where ya'll be safe."

A gasp and jerk were his answer for long minutes after an initial disbelieving and numb moment, before the boy looked up at him and he saw wide, tear-filled, ancient emerald eyes regarding him with anxious, fragile hope.

This child was much too old.

That horribly heart-wrenching, shattered expression begged him to do something, _anything_ to put his world back together, and stop the nightmare that'd taken the place of whatever bliss the boy'd found with the designer. Who was he to deny him? Especially since there was an echo of Pantera in that pleading expression, one that he'd been unable to deny, and hoped never to see again.

"Don't worry kid. I'll take care of him."

_Both of 'em._

KIKIKIKI

His patient sat almost serenely before him.

The designer was still and calm, eyes closed before Ichigo's less than steady hand, allowing the art student to study smooth, marked features anew, noting with a frown the bruising that lightly colored the man's jaw, the subtle swelling of his lips, as well as cracks, as if his lips had been chapped before someone smacked him one to the mouth. There were abrasions on his wrists; they were a scraped, swollen mess, stating that he'd been bound rather crudely, definitely not in a comfortable or even tolerable fashion.

What had they _done_ to the designer before he'd awoken? Something told him that he didn't want to know, even if he felt he _should_, as if he were responsible in some way.

"Neh, Shuuhei," he found himself saying.

"Hai, Kuro – ah, gomen – Ichigo?"

"What happened before I woke up?"

Silence reigned for a moment before the older man took a steady, deep breath, opening his eyes to regard the orangette, as if studying what his reaction would be depending on the information he gave. How much he could handle of what information could be given to the younger man, what the designer…

_Chose_ to give.

_He's going to sensor it_, frowning, the golden skinned youth met the man's gaze steadily, disapproving of the sheltered words he knew were going to come. He was familiar with the kind of look that was directed at him, although it was normally on Chad's or his father's faces; when Chad had gotten into a fight on his behalf, or when his dad was serious… the few times that Isshin _was_ serious, at least. _He's going to try and baby me!_

"They beat me, injected you with drugs, and then hurt me more," from the position standing over the other, the art student had the opportunity to witness the flecks of violet in coal gray orbs - the back of his artist's mind appreciative of the unique dazzle, the relief of the contrast - as well as a frightening determination that was hidden behind the tired, self-conscious exterior.

He wasn't going to get any more than this.

_Wait, what?_

"They injected me with drugs?" his tone was outraged, incredulous, and a tidbit nervous; what the fuck? "What kind of drugs?"

_Well, that explains my elbow, sort of. _He was horrified. He felt…

Gross.

Had they done anything else to him? What was it that was now filtering through his very blood, becoming deeper ingrained in him with every beat of his heart? Was the needle dirty? Was he poisoned? Was he infected with something? What?

What?

Unaware of the mixture of upset that now coated his features, the animosity that was radiating off his athletic, tensed frame, he was taken aback as the coal eyed man drew away from him, eyes worried and wary at they regarded him. The fact that this man – Hisagi friggin' _Shuuhei _– was feeling threatened by him snapped him out of his momentary panic, and he found himself with the realization that, no matter what it was they'd done to him, it certainly couldn't be or have been as painful and distressing as watching powerlessly as another person was hurt while helpless.

Not that he liked to think of himself as _helpless_…

"Gomenesai, Shuuhei," for a moment he felt as if the voice coming out of his mouth weren't his own, but rather his mother's. The tone was identical, familiar.

Comforting.

Slim, tired, bruised eyes blinked in surprised shock for a moment before worry filtered back into full force, drowning out the mild apprehension that's shadowed them in the moments previous.

"Daijoubu, Ichigo?" he queried in return, leaning forward as if to give comfort, brows furrowed and figure welcoming; like you would for a troubled child.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," the orangette continued, strangely comforted by the idea that he had at least something that _seemed _similar to his Oka-san. It was a warming, encouraging thought. "I didn't think. It must have been hard for you, to not be able to do anything as they hurt me. It wasn't fair of me to react the way I did, and I hurt the trust you'd started to have for me. For that," he bowed his head, kneeling down so that he was the lower of the two, gaze sliding over the bewildered, worried embarrassment of the designer as he did so, before focusing on the tile floor. "I'm truly regretful."

_Wow, _he was mildly confounded _himself_, at his real grief over the fact that he might have offended this already beaten man any more than he'd already been hurt and threatened. _I don't think I've ever apologized like this before. So… wholeheartedly._

The hand that came down onto his head was gentle and comforting as the long fingers sifted softly through spiky orange locks, and the other that braced onto his shoulder was firm and surprisingly strong as it gripped him, grabbing his attention and causing him to look up and see the tender, bemused affection of a parent with for their child.

"Īe," tired eyes were soft and warm as they regarded him, telling him that he was still very young, which in turn made him flush with youthful indignation and embarrassment; he was mildly put out by the fact that this proved the designer's unspoken point. "While you perhaps could have reacted differently – which isn't necessarily better, understand – you have no control over my own inclinations. It's understandable that you would be upset by this information – anyone would be – considering the situation you have found yourself in, but you needn't be sorry for something you can't control," Ichigo found himself opening his mouth to retort that the elder man didn't need to feel bad about the fact that the art student had been hurt either, when the man raised a brow, effectively silencing him.

The magical _I'm talking right now, don't interrupt_ that all parents possessed. Mostly strong willed mothers, but still, it was a parental trait.

_That's the third time I've thought of him in those terms, _slowly standing, features thoughtful as the tattooed man's fingers trailed over his cheek as he did so whilst the man retracted said hand, the other doing the same in regards to the orangette's arm before being pulled away rather quickly, as if burned with the realization that he'd touched more than was necessary. _I wonder if it has any fact to it. I don't remember anything in the media about him having children, but…_

"Ichigo," his eyes were drawn to the other's features once again, as he set about cleaning the wound, the other's features never flinching from the discomfort, wholly focused on the art student before him. "While I do regret being unable to prevent what happened to you, and your involvement, I know that there is nothing that I could have done differently so as to change the outcome, or prevent the situation from occurring in the first place. There's nothing I _can _do."

He became oddly serious for a moment, and Ichigo paused as he unrolled some gauze to place over the wound before he would begin wrapping it.

"Even still, if there were some way for me to change what has happened, and the choices I've made, there's nothing I _would _change," their eyes met again, and Shuuhei's gaze searched for something within his own, gaze intense and direct, as if trying to breath the meaning into him like life to a dying man. "Do you understand that?"

_I do_, he found himself thinking with shocking clarity, surprising himself with the notion that he _truly _understood. There were some things that he wouldn't change, knew that he couldn't, no matter the outcome they caused. _I understand, but that doesn't change the fact that I feel crappy about freaking you out. _

He didn't say this, though, what he did say was:

"Do you have kids, Shuuhei?"

_Well, _the art student thought, watching the blinking confusion from the jump of topics cross his Idol's attractive features, before bemusement twisted his lips and brow. _My mouth's just running away on me lately, isn't it?_

10101010

_ "You knew this was coming," _deep purple eyes, hollow and unrepentant, burrowing under his skin with his terror, and his sleeping brow, cold with sweat, wrinkled in distress. _"Don't make such a fuss when we both know that you want this."_

Gasping himself awake from the nightmare of his past, before groaning lowly at the pain that flashed throughout his body, he didn't argue when someone forced pills into his hand and a bottle of water into the other; he just hoped that they were the pain meds, and not sleeping pills. There were a number of people in the precinct who would slip him those, so that he would rest more, even at the risk of getting on his bad side, and half the time he didn't mind, especially when he was as banged up as he was right then, but he had a case to work on.

Taking slow, deep breaths he calmed his boiling nerve endings and slowly swallowed the medicine before drinking a couple gulps of the water to clear out the mild film of sleep paste on his teeth and tongue. When he felt the bottle taken from his mostly lax hand, he opened tired, swollen eyes to regard his head of science/research.

The man's features were tense and eyes dark as he regarded the pale prodigy before him. It was obvious that whatever reason he'd had to wake the fukutaicho was bad enough, and dark enough to cause even the mild mannered scientist's ire. How long had it been? A glance at the clock had his brows furrowing. Too long. Much too long.

"What have you found, Akon-san?" he didn't like how tired his voice sounded, but he couldn't do anything about it, so he let it be; he only had so much energy, after all.

A glance to his side from the elder man reminded the young detective of the proximity of the two sleeping children, and when the quiet, passive officer offered his hand, the younger man took it, as he wasn't confident of his ability to stand on his own so close to waking from a stressful, tenuous nap, as well as in such poor condition.

As the other man closed the door softly behind them so as not to wake the sleeping nest of children, Hitsuguya took as deep of a breath as he could - sans great pain - to brace himself for whatever evils that were ahead, waiting to pull him under the mat even farther. Whatever it was that the other had found was bad enough to affect his normally indifferent attitude in such a severe way, and he dreaded the fact that he would soon know whatever it was, but…

This was his job.

"So?" he queried when Akon had turned to him again. "What have you found?"

He was silent a moment.

"You need to see this," the tone was dark, foreboding, and weary before the research specialist and technician turned and lead the way towards the tech room, where they found Ren quietly crying, away from the computers, a box of tissues in front of him on the table, his young eyes haunted. A fine tremor ran along his entire body, barely noticeable.

Passing the timid, hurting officer with a slow glance and a deep frown, Hitsuguya felt that sense of foreboding growing with the pain he saw in those wide, puffy, reddened eyes.

When the older officer took a seat in his 'throne', the crystal eyed fukutaicho's gaze fell on the screens and he paled. His body stiffened and he felt his stomach twitch into his throat with a vicious sense of nausea.

Flashes of his nightmare came back to haunt him, those eyes taunting him with purpose and desire. With pain.

Every screen was playing out different parts of a single sexual assault, the timing on each different, but obviously the same scene.

The assault of Hisagi Shuuhei, with Kurosaki Ichigo's unconscious body feet away, lying on a bed with an unrecognizable child with red hair and hidden features sitting next to him, looking to be holding the inert student's hand outside the camera's view, small frame tense as he kept his gaze from being directed at the violence behind him. The child's frame was thin, painfully so. They couldn't be more than 12 years old. It may not have been a boy at all, but the dirty light green Tshirt and ragged jean shorts spoke of a male child.

It was easier to focus on the child than on the center piece of the video, certainly, but his gorge still rose.

The man that was… it was Kariya Jin in some, and Tōsen Kaname in others. More than one person was… had…

"Akon-san…" he managed, throat tight, voice mildly strangled; he was much too tired for this, his exhaustion taking its toll on his ability to block and filter his emotions enough to be objective. "What is this?"

"Found this tidbit on a private server with a restricted key-code," the man's tone was grim, his eyes focused on the tensed resignation on the battered visage of the designer as he was _used_. "The kind that you have to get a specific driver to access. You need an invite from someone who's already connected, and then are given specific passwords for individual vids. Usually."

At the moment, the sound was muted, and for that he was thankful as he managed to push his horrified disgust away to think about what Akon was implying.

"You mean that there's some kind of… club or cult or whatever," he swallowed around his thick feeling tongue, gaze locked stubbornly on the blank features of the designer as he was violated. He felt that he shouldn't abandon him, even if this was filmed some time ago; the man deserved the respect, and much more. "That watches this. _Is_ watching this. Aizen started an online private porn ring. Of rape and violation."

"Yes," the tech closed his eyes briefly before stopping several of the videos and shifting to an update page on one screen, and starting over the video from the beginning. "Listen to this, what Aizen says. You'll know how bad this is then."

"Hold on," he managed, wiping a sore hand over his bruised, numb features. It was going to get _worse._ Great. "Get taicho on the line. Whatever this is, he needs to hear it too."

"Wakatta. Ren," the name of his assistant fell from his lips in a rather gentle way for the seasoned veteran, his eyes soft as he regarded the softly sobbing young man with the girlish features. "Can you get Starrk on the line please? Then you can go sit with the children."

"H-hai," his lower lip trembled slightly and his eyes held a faint sheen, but he stood, hands shaking as he wiped them over his ruddy cheeks, and went about the task of getting the lazy eyed man on audio.

"And Ren?" Hitsuguya marveled at the even softer tone directed at the other, highly emotional officer.

"Hai, Akon-san?" as the machine that earlier that day had been hooked up to Grimmjow's cell was hooked up to another and moved towards the scientist's desk, he didn't look up even once.

"You've done very well today," big watery eyes shot up to lock onto his supervisor's, flicking momentarily to the pale prodigy in the process as the crying young man's splotchy upset features paled and then flushed. "Thank you."

_Ah_, the trembling in his legs and entire body doubled into exhaustion as the realization hit him, causing him to grope for a chair and slowly descend into it. _So he's the one who found the site. _

"I – I –" was the soft, watery plea that choked off as the young man snapped his mouth shut, gaze shooting to the floor, eyes shadowed by overlong bangs that usually were held back by either a tie, or clips, and connected the remaining wires before rushing towards the door.

"Ren-san," the crystal eyed young man managed, connecting his gaze with the trembling form at the door, hand on the handle. "You've saved their lives. Know that, be proud of that. Nothing else matters but that fact," he was aware of the ringing sound of the brunette's phone in the background, as well as Akon's gaze out of the corner of his eye. "Thank you."

"Un," was the thick acknowledgement before the officer rushed out of the office.

"Moshi-moshi?" the deep, soothing tones of his taicho helped the prodigy to relax slightly, his eyes sliding shut for a moment.

"Taicho, it's Hitsuguya," he managed, features hardening with grim determination.

"Ah, Tōshirō-kun," there was a pause after the initial automatic reaction to the fukutaicho calling him. "What have you got?"

"Starrk," the technician interrupted, taking over for the exhausted youth, who sat back with a relieved sigh; he just couldn't take it right then. "We've found them. Aizen's got them on an online porn site. Kurosaki Ichigo isn't on the site as of yet, as a victim, but Hisagi-kun has already made an appearance," Hitsuguya's crystalline eyes shot open to stare at the older officer whilst the other continued informing his taicho and sometimes drinking buddy; Akon and Hisagi Shuuhei knew each other. They fucking _knew _each other. "There has been no anal violation as of yet, but there has been oral rape from two different individuals. Kariya Jin and Tōsen Kaname have each individually initiated the assault. I'm assuming that the reason they have held off on a full assault is because certain 'viewers' are not able to see the videos at this time. Kurosaki Ichigo is on the scene and unconscious, as well as a young boy who has yet to be identifiable," there was foreboding silence on the other end of the line, deathly quiet that caused Hitsuguya's chest to ache as he listened to Akon speak and thought about the man's ability to do so even though he had some sort of relation with the designer. "It's on a private server. A kind of 'members only' kind of thing. We've contacted you so that you can listen to the beginning of the video to get a grasp on what's _really _going on. The scope of this is _huge. _The rest of the video is nothing pertinent at this time. I've already screened it."

The lazy eyed man on the other end of the line was quiet for a good, long minute before he spoke.

"Play it," was the ever-so soft order, tone gentle and kind.

As the man with an actual knowledge of the victim as a _person_ leaned forward to do that, the pale prodigy felt himself swallow bile down distantly.

_I'm a coward, _he found himself thinking with stark clarity.

MEMEMEME

Well, I hope ya'll enjoy this frighteningly long chapter that I wrote in a pretty large rush of breaks while working and when I could find some time, lol.


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